


Carpe Diem

by fimbrethiel



Category: Shadow of the Templar - M. Chandler
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2585993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fimbrethiel/pseuds/fimbrethiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy’s got some business in New York City and invites Simon along for the weekend.  To no one’s great surprise, the weekend doesn’t turn out to be especially restful.  Funny, neither of them really cares.</p><p>Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero – "Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future.”  Horace</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Late September, a little more than two years after the conclusion of High Fidelity
> 
> Disclaimer: The Shadow of the Templar world and characters therein are the property of M. Chandler. I mean no harm and no disrespect. No profit has been made. Thanks so much for allowing us to play in your sandbox! Tony the Chauffeur, the club, and the bar and patrons are my creations. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is entirely coincidental.
> 
> Beta: Reviewed by the lovely and gracious minuial_nuwing (Thank you, dearest!). Remaining errors and errors in canon are mine.
> 
> Original date of completion: March 2010
> 
> Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero – "Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future.” Horace
> 
> Author’s Note: If you haven’t read M. Chandler’s fantastic contemporary spy series Shadow of the Templar, do it! This story might be confusing if you aren’t familiar with the source material.

$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Wednesday, 10:17pm_  
  
The shrill chirp of Simon’s cell phone woke him out of a deep sleep.  He’d been dreaming – something about a chimpanzee and an orange tree?  Weird shit, and definitely the result of being exhausted to the core, because whoa, his dreams weren’t usually  _that_  weird.  
  
“Fuh,” he groaned, glancing first at the clock ( **pm 10:17**  its obnoxious neon orange display told him) then reaching for the phone and nearly sending it skittering off the nightstand.  He made a blind grab and finally got hold of it, and flipped it open without looking at the display.  “’lo,” he rasped, and cleared his throat.  “Simon Drake.”  
  
“Ah,” murmured a pleasant, very familiar English voice on the other end,   “Simon.  My apologies, did I wake you?”  
  
“ _Archer_.”  It figured.  No one else but Upstairs and Jeremy  _I-never-sleep_  Archer would call in the middle of the night.  Simon rubbed at his eyes and yawned.  “Jesus, do you know what time it is?”  
  
“Just a bit past ten, by my reckoning.  It’s a bit early for bed, even for you, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah, well normal people do sleep at night, when they aren’t out burgling Buckingham Palace or, or some rich babe’s jewelry box.  But then, you’ve never been normal.”  Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly the middle of the night, but Simon had been asleep, damn it, and in his opinion a little pissiness was in order.  
  
There was a pause, and Jeremy’s response was a shade cooler.  “I can call back in the morning, if you’d rather.”  
  
“Nah, it’s fine,” Simon relented, stifling a yawn.  It wasn’t like Jeremy knew he’d been sleeping, anyway.  “Sorry, it’s just been one  _bitch_  of a week.  Remember that case I was telling you about?  The kidnapping?”  
  
“Mmm.  The one about the senator’s daughter, if I’m not mistaken?”  Jeremy’s voice was still a bit guarded, but noticeably less chilly.  
  
“Yeah, that one.  We finally busted the thing wide open last night.  Got a lucky break when the asshole’s flunky started flapping his gums in front of the wrong person.  We tracked him down, cracked some heads open, extracted the kid, and arrested the sonofabitch.”  He scratched at the scruff on his chin and stared into the half-light that the mini blinds never seemed to be able to keep out.  
  
Jeremy exhaled a little puff of breath.  “And the girl – “  
  
“Nah, no static, that’s how awesome we are.  The poor kid was scared shitless, but she wasn’t hurt, or – “ he choked off that thought damned quick.  “ – there wasn’t a scratch on her.  She went to the hospital to get checked out, but she’s going to be fine.  The senator even got to keep the ransom money, and everyone lived happily ever after, the end.”  
  
“Far be it from me to side with law enforcement, but it appears that congratulations are in order.  So – congratulations, well done, and all.”  Jeremy’s voice sounded pleased, like he was talking around a smile.  
  
That smile made Simon kind of smile too.  “Yeah, my team kicked some serious ass this week.  I am so damned proud of those kids, I could almost cry, if I wasn’t such a real man and all.  No cookies, but they got to knock off early tonight.  And then some jerkwad calls at late-o-fucking-clock and wakes me up, just when I get to sleep.  So, nyah.”  He broke off as another yawn threatened to dislocate his jaw.  
  
“Ah.  I find myself duly chastised.”  The warmth in Jeremy’s voice had fully returned.  “My apologies, Simon.  Although, in my defense, I hadn’t anticipated waking you.”  
  
Simon snorted, because he’d just finished thinking that same thing.  “Yeah, don’t sweat it.  So hey, Archer, did you actually  _want_  something, or did you just call to bust my balls?”  
  
Jeremy chuckled softly on the other end of the phone, and some ice in a glass that Simon was sure cost as much as he made in a day tinkled musically in the background.  “How charmingly American.  Would you believe me if I said that I simply missed the sound of your voice?”  
  
“Nope, not for a minute.   _Sleeping_ , Archer.   _Zzzzz_.”  
  
“How terribly inconsiderate of me.  I’ll just get straight to the point then, shall I?”  
  
Simon could just  _hear_  the bastard smiling on the other end of the line. “Yeah, you do that, why don’t you.”  He rolled to his side and adjusted his pillow, propping the phone up with one hand.  “So?”  
  
“I realize it’s short notice, but I was hoping I could entice you to spend the weekend with me in New York City.”  
  
“New York?   _This_  weekend?”  
  
“Why, yes.  New York City, or what you provincial Americans call the Big Apple, or the Center of the Known Universe?”  
  
Simon smiled into the dark.  “ – hey, shut up, you highfaluter, you.  I know where it  _is_ , obviously, but didn’t you just practically get home or something?”  
  
“It’s encouraging that you haven’t forgotten already,” Jeremy’s voice was velvet smooth with suggestion and just maybe, a hint of nostalgia.  
  
The little hairs on the back of Simon’s neck stood at attention.  Damn, that had been a great visit, but Jeremy’s ego was already too healthy to admit how much Simon had enjoyed it.  “Like I could?  Every time I turn around you show up like a, a bad habit or something.”  
  
From the phone came a little not-quite-laugh and the squeak of what Simon was certain was leather on leather.  Jeremy’s leather pants protesting against the seat of a very, very expensive leather chair as Jeremy shifted positions.  “Although it surely wasn’t intended as such, I think I might be flattered at the comparison.  To be your only vice – “  
  
Simon broke in quickly before Jeremy could continue that train of thought.  Derail that train right the fuck now.  “Bite me, and oh yeah, shut up.  So, do I really want to know why you’re coming to New York?”  
  
Jeremy waited just a half a breath before answering, and Simon again heard the faint swishing of liquid in a glass and tinkle of ice cubes. “It’s just a bit of business Ethan needs taken care of.”  
  
Simon’s Spidey Sense woke up.  “Just what sort of business, Archer?  Isn’t he like, retired or something?” he said suspiciously.  
  
That little not-laugh again.  “Oh, Simon, still so mistrustful?  I’ve not been extradited to America, so there should be  _some_ assurance that I’ve been telling you the truth all these years.  Ethan simply had some business, as I said - entirely legitimate and aboveboard, I promise - and would like me to represent his interests.”  
  
“He can’t come himself?  Not that I won’t jump at the chance to bust on your snotty English sensibilities at any given opportunity, but isn’t that something he’d usually do himself, being all businessy and efficient-like?”  
  
Jeremy paused again, and the line crackled and hissed for a few seconds before he answered.  “Ethan isn’t feeling quite up to snuff, I’m sorry to say.  A touch of the flu, so his doctor says.  Nothing serious, of course, but he’s not quite up to trans-Atlantic travel just yet.  He  _is_  in his sixties, after all.”  
  
Simon wasn’t sure what to say.  It wasn’t that he disliked Ethan.  He actually kind of liked the guy.  It was more that he always felt Ethan never really forgave him for getting Jeremy shot.  Or Annabelle kidnapped.  Or simply taking up space on the planet.  Still, knowing how Jeremy cared for Ethan, some sort of concern was in order.  “Hey, sorry to hear that.  I hope’s he’s better soon.”  And as an afterthought added, “And that was a yes, in case you were wondering.”  
  
“I’ll pass along your well-wishes, then.  I’m certain he’ll appreciate the thought.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll bet he will,” Simon muttered under his breath.  
  
“ _Simon_  – “ Jeremy’s voice came across the phone, not quite pleading, but close enough to make Simon feel slightly guilty.  
  
“Fine, sorry.”  
  
“Apology accepted.  Now, have you some paper and a pen to take down the address?”  
  
Oh yeah, address.  That might be good.  “Yeah, right under my pillow, so I can write down all my purple pony dreams when I wake up.  Hang on, smartass, gotta get to my desk.”  
  
Simon swore he heard a chortle of laughter on the other end.  Tucking the phone under his chin, he struggled out of bed and slapped on the light switch.  “Jesus help me, I’m blind,” he muttered, squinting against the sudden bright light.  
  
Eventually he found a pen and a piece of note paper buried under a pile of junk.  “Shoot.”  He could swear he heard Jeremy wince.  OK, poor choice of words there.   “Um, got it.  Hit me.”  
  
“Oh dear, hitting below the belt wouldn’t be sporting, Simon.  A grope or a fondle, perhaps?”  
  
Was that a purr Simon heard?  Oh yeah, definitely.  Even through the thousands of miles of phone connection, he could recognize that Jeremy purr like it was hardwired into his psyche.  Simon’s brain might be still half asleep, but there were parts of his anatomy that were definitely waking up.  It was going to be a long couple days until the weekend.  
  
“Pervert,” Simon said easily, writing down the address and phone number Jeremy gave him.  
  
“When do you think you might arrive?” Jeremy’s disembodied voice said though the phone speaker.  
  
Simon deliberated for a minute, as much as his sleep-addled mind would allow.  Five hours in a car, on a Friday night, or at the asscrack of dawn on Saturday, through DC and New York traffic, or  – “I’ll fly,” he decided.  “Friday night after work, I guess, if I can find a late flight.  If I can’t find something, you’ll just have to figure something out for me, Mr. Fancy Pants Rich Guy.  If you want what’s in  _my_  pants, that is.  And I know you do, so don’t bother lying.”  
  
“Mm.  Wouldn’t dream of it.”  That little  _mmm_  sound of promise made Simon shiver.  
  
“But I have to be back Sunday, you hear me?  We defenders of the free world don’t have time for your gentleman of leisure shit.”  
  
“Excellent,” Jeremy chirped, making Simon roll his eyes in the dark.  It was, what, three thirty in the morning in England, and no one at that time of night should sound so chipper.  It just wasn’t right.  Unless – maybe Jeremy hadn’t even been to bed yet.  That thought made Simon vaguely uncomfortable, so he didn’t think about the reasons Jeremy might still be awake and so damned cheerful at such an hour.  
  
 _Don’t want to know, don’t want to know.  Plausible deniability, accessory before the fact, and all that.  Do_ not _want to know._  
  
Hey, hold the phone a minute.  Jeremy didn’t technically even live in England anymore.  He didn’t, like, live anywhere in particular.  Jeremy didn’t even own a  _car_ , as far as Simon knew…  “Hey, what time is it where you are?” he blurted.  Christ, what a loaded question that might turn out to be.  
  
Jeremy made a breathy sound that might have been laughter, but was probably exasperation.  “I’m in England, Simon.”  Well, that didn’t really answer the question, but it was Jeremy, so it  _did_.  “At Ethan’s.”  Oh.  “Returning so quickly hadn’t been part of my schedule, but with Ethan’s illness, I felt compelled to change my plans a bit.”  
  
“Oh.  Yeah, I could see how that would happen.”  Simon felt just maybe a tiny bit guilty.  
  
“Tomorrow I’ll be enroute,” Jeremy went on, “so if you’ll leave the details with my service, I’ll arrange to have a car pick you up and bring you around to the hotel.  A key card will be waiting at the front desk for you.  Just come up straightaway whenever you arrive.  Ethan reserved a suite there, under the name Robert St. Claire. I’ll be registered under the name Evan Townshend – “  
  
“Of course you will.”  Simon rolled his eyes.  Rich guys.  Sarcasm aside, though, Simon was glad Archer was still keeping a low profile from that Karpol goatfuck.  It was no secret among the criminal element that Jeremy had been Ethan’s protégé, and on the off chance someone shook the Ethan tree hard enough and a monkey named Jeremy Archer fell out, well, that would be bad.  A whole dump truck full of bad, for Jeremy and for Ethan both.  
  
 _Just don’t think too hard about it.  He’s been underground for over two years, and he’s still safe.  No one is going to find him.  That shit is done, over and out._  
  
“And you will be Mr. Moorhead, I suppose?” Jeremy continued smoothly, rolling right over Simon’s interruption as though he hadn’t said a word.  
  
Simon debated.  The Simon Moorhead kit taped under his desk drawer was still valid.  Or, valid  _again_ , after a plain express mail envelope had shown up in his mailbox one day.  Inside that envelope was another sealed, plain manila envelope, with no identifying marks except a hand drawn smiley face on the front.  Simon laughed his ass off when he saw that little face.  Inside that envelope was a full set of current identification in the name of Simon Moorhead.  How in the hell many times that envelope had changed hands and been forwarded and what sort of pressure Jeremy must have put on Ethan to arrange it, Simon didn’t want to know, but it made him feel all warm and tingly inside.  
  
But it was probably safer, and a hell of a lot more legal, to book his reservations under his real name.  There was nothing unlawful about Simon Drake taking a few days away to visit a sick aunt in New York City. Except that Simon Drake didn’t _have_  a sick aunt in New York City.  Simon Drake was going off for a shack-up weekend in the Big Apple with a guy who was a felon on Interpol’s Wanted Fugitives list.  
  
“Yeah, that one,” he said anyway, making a quick decision.  He’d fly under his legal name – and rack up a few frequent flyer miles, while he was at it, you never knew when those might come in handy – and use his fake name at the hotel, just in case.  All they’d want is proof of identity before turning over a room key, anyway.  He probably wouldn’t even need to sign in.  Even if he did, no one would ever connect Simon Drake to Simon Moorhead’s signature on a hotel register.  
  
He shifted the phone and realized that Jeremy was still talking.  Whoops.  “ – and you’ll be back for Monday, Scout’s honor.”  
  
“Yeah, right, fine, whatever, so now I’m going back to sleep.  Bring that gray suit thingy, ok?  And you were never a fucking Boy Scout,” he grumbled, and slapped his phone shut.  
  
Just before Simon disconnected, he was sure he heard a bark of laughter before the line went dead.  Giving the phone a glare, he palmed off the light, tossed his phone back onto the nightstand, and crawled back into bed.  He thought he dreamed, and he thought Jeremy may have played a major role, but Simon couldn’t quite remember the details when he woke in the morning.  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Thursday, 6:22am_  
  
There was just enough time before work for Simon to unbury his computer and get online.  He navigated to one of the travel sites, found a late flight from Washington to LaGuardia and, as he keyed in his credit card number, didn’t even have a heart attack over the grand larceny the airlines quoted for a round-trip ticket, even without first class.  Hitting the print key, he grabbed the sheet of paper that spewed out and headed out to his Jeep.  
  
At the end of the morning team meeting, just before Simon dismissed everyone, he mentally steeled himself for the lie he was about to tell and said as casually as he could manage, “Oh yeah, and I can’t make poker night this week.  My aunt’s sick.  Got to go to New York.”  
  
The response from his team was pretty much what he expected.  After two years of infrequent and random disappearances with vague explanations, they had become used to it, or at least resigned to it.  
  
Sandra pursed her lips and looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t.  Mike, as usual, opened his mouth before thinking about it, and got as far as “Again?  Jesus, Templar, didn't you – ow  _FUCK_!” when Sandy leaned sideways and smacked him in the back of the head at the exact same moment Johnny slouched down in his chair and kicked Mike in the shin.  Mike yelped and slid out of his chair onto the floor, clutching at his body at both ends and moaning.  
  
Dave, predictably, blinked and said, “Huh?  Oh, yeah, okay?” before getting up and heading to his computer.  
  
The only reaction that surprised Simon was Nate’s.  He looked a little disappointed, and then a little bewildered, but after a minute, Nate offered a timid smile.  “Sure, Templar, no problem.  We can just cheat you next weekend instead.”  
  
A little mystified and wondering what, exactly, was going through Nate’s mind, Simon went back to his office and sat down in front of his computer.  A few minutes later, thanks to a pile of paperwork he’d been putting off reviewing while the kidnapping case was going down, he’d completely forgotten about it.  
  
An hour later, Simon resurfaced for a refill of coffee, and on his way back to his office, stopped by Nate’s desk to check in.  Nate was engrossed in screening some bank security camera video footage that had come in overnight from a case the team had been halfway working on for a couple weeks, and jumped when Simon dropped a hand on his shoulder.  “Oh hey, Templar, what’s up?” he said, looking up and in the same moment pushing his glasses back up on his nose.  
  
“Just checking in on my other favorite half of the nerd squad, Specs.  You find shit to explode or someone to beat up yet?  You’ll find this shocking, I know, but Mike’s starting to get bored already, and when Mike gets bored, bad stuff happens.  Then I’ll have to kill him as a disciplinary action, and that would really screw up the team.  So tell me you’re on to something here.”  
  
Nate giggled a little, but then his voice got serious.  “Sorry, Templar.  There’s nothing yet, but I’ll find it eventually.  Bank deposits don’t just disappear from a locked night drop, right?”  
  
Simon personally knew someone who could pull off that sort of stunt, but he didn’t say so.  Jeremy definitely wasn't a suspect here.  It didn’t fit his MO, and besides, he’d  _promised_.  Jeremy was a felon, but he wasn't a liar.  “Ok, just let me know when you find something, or I’ll have to kill you, too,” he said cheerfully.  
  
“I want lots of white roses at my funeral.”  Nate hesitated.  Blushing faintly, he glanced furtively toward Sandra’s desk and said very quietly, “And, um, tell Jeremy I said hi, okay?”  
  
Surprised, and little touched by Nate’s tacit approval, he didn’t really know what else to say, except, “Yeah, sure, Specs.”  Hesitating, he gave Nate’s shoulder a little pat and went back to his office.  He dropped into his chair and stared thoughtfully through the doorway, then gave a little chuckle and got back to work.  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Thursday, 2:08pm_  
  
Sometime after lunch, Simon made an excuse to hit the men’s room and grab a bottled water from the vending machine.  Water in hand, he stepped outside to make a quick phone call.  Pulling his cell off his belt clip, he punched in the number from memory and waited while the phone relays clicked and transferred and the line finally rang.  The second ring was cut off by a pleasant female voice.  “Answering service.”  
  
“Hey gorgeous, how about ditching that guy you work for and riding off with me into the sunset?”  
  
Annabelle’s laughter was a beautiful sound.  “Hey, big guy!  You promise and you promise, but you never deliver.  I heard a rumor you’d be calling today.”  
  
“Sucks for you, huh?  Is that rat bastard boss of yours still taking good care of you?”  
  
Annabelle actually giggled.  “Oh, sure, he’s spoiling me rotten.  He’s out of pocket right now but said you’d have some information for me?”  
  
Damn, she was much fun to flirt with that Simon had almost forgotten.  “Oh, yeah, got it right here.”  He dug the one-page itinerary he’d printed that morning from his pocket and gave Annabelle his flight information and arrival time.  
  
“Great, I’ll pass that along just as soon as he checks in.”  Simon heard her pecking at a keyboard in the background.  
  
“Hey, thanks.  Take care of yourself, pretty lady.”  
  
“You too.  Oh, and make sure you enjoy yourself this weekend, ok?”  
  
Christ, that almost sounded like she was laughing.  “Um.  Yeah.  I hope so, anyway.”  
  
He snapped his phone shut and took a fortifying breath before descending back into the Well of Insanity that was the Team Templar saferoom.  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Friday, 5:08pm_  
  
After work, Simon went straight home.  He made a smorgasbord dinner out of whatever leftovers he found in the fridge, then gave his apartment a cursory decluttering – five minutes to throw out the trash and pick up a couple dirty drinking glasses from the living room, and voila, done – and finished up packing everything except his toiletries.  
  
In his office, from the bottom of the desk drawer he peeled off the tape and black plastic garbage bag and laid out the contents across his bed, grinning as always at the little smiley face on the envelope containing the Simon Moorhead ID.  He took out the driver’s license and, just in case, grabbed the credit card too, leaving the little pistol behind.   The false ID got sealed in a brand-new white envelope and tucked into the bottom of his duffel.  
  
All that, including dinner, took just over a half an hour.  There was plenty of time before he had to leave for the airport, so for lack of anything more interesting to do, Simon got undressed and climbed into bed, setting his alarm clock to ring in an hour.  He didn’t really think he would nod off, thanks to a little knot of anticipation high up in his belly, but woke up sixty minutes later to the buzz of the alarm, feeling refreshed and a little surprised that he’d actually dozed off.  
  
He took a quick shower and shaved again.  Damned stubble, he was the only one he knew who could shave three times a day (theoretically, not that he  _did_ ) and still look like he was about six hours overdue.  Even Mike with his dark complexion didn’t scruff up as badly as Simon did.  Finally smooth-cheeked for the time being, Simon brushed his teeth, packed up his shaving gear, and thumbed on his computer to let it power up while he got dressed.  
  
At his computer, he found the airline web site saved in his bookmarks and checked the airline departures, holding his breath while the great computer spirits ground away and eventually vomited out a little ‘on time’ message.  He let out the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding and was out the door and in his Jeep on the road to the airport five minutes later.  
  
Traffic was miraculously accident-free and he found a space in long-term parking that was less than fourteen miles away from the gate.  He had to cut off a couple in a late-model urban assault vehicle to get it, calling a not especially apologetic “Sorry, FBI, official business!” to them when they honked and flipped him off, but tough shit, they should have got there first.  
  
Even the check-in lines were no more obnoxious than usual.  Since he had no luggage to check, he went straight to security and practically breezed right through.  The flight boarded only five minutes late, and was not packed to the gills with screaming children and grumpy businessmen.  To continue this unprecedented lucky streak, the flight was full, but not to capacity, and Simon’s aisle seat miraculously had an empty seat between him and the executive type near the window.  After giving Simon a perfunctory nod, the guy promptly ignored him and went to sleep.  
  
With these provident circumstances, Simon almost held his breath, sure his luck wouldn’t hold and the plane would crash on takeoff or something, but they were airborne quickly and ascending to cruising altitude.  Even though he wasn’t especially tired, he still managed to doze most of the flight, waking for real when the pilot came on and announced their initial descent into La Guardia.  
  
By the time the plane pulled into the gate and Simon headed down the ramp, he was nearly bouncing.  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Friday, 10:27pm_  
  
There was a man waiting for Simon at the arrivals gate.  The man picked him out of the crowd so easily that Simon wondered what sort of description Jeremy had provided.   _Really tall, black hair, blue eyes, nice ass, exudes an air of awesome._  Yeah, that sounded about right.  
  
“Hey, the name’s Tony,” the man said in a thick Brooklyn accent, shaking Simon’s hand as though they were old acquaintances.  “Mr. Townshend sent me.  Car’s outside.  You got any luggage needs picked up?”  
  
Simon shook his head and held up his duffel.  “Nope, I’m good.  But man, if we can stop for a coffee, I’ll kiss your feet right here and now.”  
  
Tony boomed out a laugh that sounded like it came from the soles of his feet.  “Mr. Townshend said you were a character.  Yeah, sure.  There’s one of them fancy places right outside.”  
  
Simon made a quick detour into Starbuck’s for a double espresso, figuring he was going to need the caffeine to deal with Jeremy for the rest of the night, and made one more brief pit stop into the men’s room to answer nature’s call and switch over his IDs to the Simon Moorhead version, just so he wouldn’t get confused later at the hotel.  
  
The car, a big shiny black one, was waiting at the curb, its hazard lights flashing.  Simon tossed in his duffel into the back seat and sank hip-deep into luxurious leather.  Tony had the radio turned on, tuned to a classic rock station playing Led Zeppelin.  “This gonna bother you?” he said, gesturing to the radio.  “I can turn it off, you want.”  
  
“Nah, it’s fine,” Simon said, and that was about the extent of their conversation.  
  
In the car, Simon finally remembered to turn on his cell phone.  He hit the power button and once the little screen finally showed service, on a whim he flipped to the text message screen.  Texting now was a lot easier, since Nate had picked out a new phone for him, this one with a little built-in keyboard.  Simon only used it once in a while, but since he had it…  he quickly tapped out a message and hit send.

  
**plane didnt crash, sux 4 u.  on my way**   


  
He didn’t really expect a reply, and so was surprised when a minute later, the phone buzzed in his pocket.  He flipped the phone open and hit the button to view the text message.

  
**I’ll be waiting.**   


  
Simon passed the rest of the time watching the buildings and the cars go by, occasionally whistling under his breath or tapping along with Zeppelin on his thigh, and drinking his espresso.

Quicker than he expected, they were pulling up to the rotunda of a fancy-ass hotel.  It wasn’t as big as Simon anticipated, but it obviously bled money out of various orifices.

He fumbled for his wallet, searching for a gratuity, but the driver held up a hand almost apologetically and waved him away.  “Ah, don’t worry about it,” he said in his thick accent.  “Mr. Townshend’s got it.  Have a good night, huh?”

“Yeah, you too,” Simon said, grabbing his duffel.  Just to be an ass, because it was his nature, he left the empty Starbuck’s cup in the car.  Then, in a ridiculously good mood, he almost bounced through the lobby, fueled by a nap, adrenaline, and double espresso.

At the front desk, he dug out his wallet and produced his illicit fake ID, manfully suppressing that usual cringe of shame whenever he broke out his alter ego’s identification.  “Hi, the guy in Robert St. Claire’s suite – uh, Evan Townshend?  He left something for me.  Uh, my name’s Simon Moorhead.”

The clerk’s expression immediately changed from bored disinterest to something close to rapture, probably at the memory of all the money Misters St. Claire and Townshend had thrown his way.   “Yes, of course, Mr. Moorhead.  Mr. Townshend said you’d be arriving this evening.  Just one moment, please.”

Simon was relieved that he didn’t have to sign in after all.  A minute later, he turned away carrying a sealed envelope with the name Simon Moorhead printed on the front in Jeremy’s tiny handwriting.  Nodding absently to the clerk, Simon turned away and tore open the end.  Inside was an electronic room key card wrapped in a sheet of ordinary hotel letterhead.  On it was written, in Archer’s obnoxiously neat hand, “Penthouse.  Let yourself in.”

_Suite_ , Archer had said on the phone.  Simon shouldn’t have really been surprised.  Still, even though he’d traveled enough with Jeremy where he should, by rights, be inured to all the luxury, it was a bit of a thrill to slide that electronic card into the little unmarked slot in the elevator, while all the little people pushed the little buttons for their dull little cookie-cutter standard rooms.  Hell yeah, he was living the life of luxury, at least for the weekend, and he might as well gloat while he could.

He got off the elevator and turned right.  The hallway was thickly carpeted and looked ridiculously expensive.  Of course it was.  It was  _Archer_.

There was only one guest door in the hall.  The other was obviously the housekeeping closet, because the door was cleverly labeled “Housekeeping.”  Simon felt awfully proud of himself for figuring that one out.

He slung the duffel more securely over his shoulder and gave a short knock – tap tap tap – as he swiped the key card into the door.  “Luuuucy, I’m hooooome,” he called, swinging the door open, the words dying off as every ounce of blood in his body flowed southward in a rush.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” was what came out of his mouth, in some sort of raspy croak he didn’t recognize.

And there stood Jeremy, leaning insolently against the wall in that loose-hipped, indolent way that was just  _Jeremy_ , wearing that bizarre, sexy gray catsuit burglar thing that turned Simon on so much.  Simon had half a brain cell enough to wonder if Jeremy was standing up because the suit was so slippery that if he’d have tried to sit, he’d have tumbled his ass onto the floor.  But then again, it was  _Jeremy_ , who was all athletic and nimble and sort of a show-off, and he’d probably have just slid gracefully down and turned it into a triple back flip with a handstand finisher.

“I do hope that was an invitation,” Jeremy purred, letting one finger slide idly down over his stomach, just narrowly avoiding the bulge at the crotch.  “It would be a shame to learn I’d gone through all this trouble for nothing.”

“Heh,” was the only thing Simon could say, because his brain was too busy thinking  _fuck_   _yeah_ ,  _I’m gonna hit that so damned hard_.

His duffel dropped to the floor, the door clicked shut behind him, and he lunged forward and made a grabbing motion at Jeremy’s chest.  His hand slipped off the Teflon-smooth fabric and he made some sort of whimpering sound when his hand closed around not Jeremy’s body as he’d wanted, but a fistful of air.

Giving it up as a lost cause, he straight-armed Jeremy toward the bedroom.  The room he assumed was the bedroom, anyway, because there was a bed, and – yeah, a bed.  He needed a bed right away.  Like, ten minutes ago, because duh, there was Jeremy, and that  _suit_ , and holy hell, if he didn’t figure out how to get Jeremy  _out_  of that suit in about the next ten seconds, he was going to explode right in his pants, and that would really suck.

But peeling off that suit like a second skin was going to be half the fun, so maybe he wouldn’t hurry, after all.

$ $ $ $ $


	2. Chapter 2

$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Saturday morning, various times_  
  
In the wee hours of the morning, Simon woke up.  Jeremy was sprawled on his stomach almost in the middle of the bed, his breathing soft and steady in sleep.  Despite the heat of Jeremy’s body beside him, Simon was chilled.  The blankets had slid nearly down to his waist; the day’s heat had leached out of the room, and the night air outside the bed was cold.  _Damn bed hog_ , Simon thought drowsily, not really minding, and pulled the blankets up a little higher over both of them.  A minute later, he was asleep.  
  
Sometime much later, Simon woke again, this time finding himself alone in Jeremy’s bed.  He should be used to it by now, but he was still a little surprised by the pang of disappointment he felt.  Listening hard, he thought he heard a faint clatter of dishware and paper rustling from somewhere outside the bedroom.  He thought about going to investigate, but he had to piss, and God damn, he stank.  
  
During the night, Simon’s shaving bag had apparently grown legs and walked its way into the bathroom adjoining Jeremy’s bedroom.  Taking the hint, he shoved a pile of frou-frou shave gels and other assorted expensive shit to the side and laid out his own stuff.  He shaved and took care of the rest of his business, then took a long, hot shower to wash the rest of the sleep from his mind and clean the various layers of encrusted  _ick_  off his body.  He’d planned to shower last night, but by the time  _Archer of the longest fucking shower in the world_  was done, Simon had pretty much been asleep and couldn’t be bothered to get up.  Jeremy had needed the cleanup a lot worse than Simon, anyway.  
  
A while later, he sauntered bare-chested out of the bedroom, shiny pink and clean from his shower, his shirt tossed over his shoulder and buckling his belt.  He strutted into the kitchen area in search of coffee and found Jeremy, shirtless and barefooted, but otherwise dressed in a pair of pajama pants (obviously not one of the many pairs of Simon’s that he’d stolen, because these were black), lounging on a stool reading the Times and sipping a cup of coffee.  
  
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Jeremy murmured, engrossed in his paper.  “There’s coffee on the table.”  
  
“Jesus, I think I’m in heaven.  Sex and coffee, this must be paradise.”  Simon picked up an empty mug and helped himself to some coffee out of the carafe.  
  
Taking his first sip, Simon leaned against the counter and looked Jeremy over.  He snickered, feeling pretty proud of himself over the string of dark red ovals across Jeremy’s collarbone, and one really nasty-looking purple bite mark marring the perpetual tan on his left pectoral.  It sort of looked like a big mutant third nipple.  There were a couple light marks, already fading, on Simon’s own chest and low down on his stomach near the crease of his thigh, but they were nothing compared to those suckers.  “That’s some pretty impressive work right there, yep.  Am I am  _the man_  or what?  Put a shirt on before you scare the neighbors.”  
  
Jeremy glanced up, and following Simon’s stare, examined his own chest.  He picked up his coffee, that usual half-smile never leaving his face.  “I imagine it would be a considerable blow to your ego and your manhood to point out the rather, er,  _visible_  mark at the hairline on the back of your neck, or the other just above the curve of your right buttock,” he said innocently, gazing at Simon over the rim of his mug.  
  
“Wha – “ Simon thunked his coffee on the counter and clapped one hand to the back of his neck at the same time he tried to look down, pushing at the waistband of his jeans vainly to see his own ass.  He flailed in circles for a minute, then gave up and turned his patented look of death on Jeremy.  “Tell me you didn’t.”  
  
Jeremy lifted one shoulder, his lip twitching.  “I  _could_  tell you, but it would be a lie.”  
  
Simon growled and picked up his coffee.  “I hate you.  I really, really do.”  
  
“No one hates me quite as well as you, Simon.”  But Simon did think Jeremy sounded way too pleased with himself.  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Saturday, 3:57pm_  
  
Since Jeremy was paying for everything else, Simon treated them to lunch in a little bistro, because he hated to feel like a kept man or something.  
  
All afternoon long, Jeremy dragged him around the city, stopping here and there to browse in one store or another – Christ, the guy was worse than a chick, the way he liked to shop.  Of course, Simon watched him like a hawk, especially in the jewelry store, where Archer bought a ridiculously expensive watch for himself, but as far as Simon could tell, there was nothing hinky that went on and Jeremy behaved admirably.  Simon sort of knew he would, but old habits died hard.  
  
After lunch, and after God only knew how much money later, they finally arrived back at the hotel.  Grumpy, sweaty, and tired from walking for hours, Simon finally dropped the half dozen shopping bags on the floor of Jeremy’s penthouse living room and collapsed onto the sofa.  “If we see one more God-damned tourist trap or the inside of one more Christly overpriced ‘boutique’ thingy, I’m going to punch you right in the face and then kill myself.  In case you’ve maybe forgotten or something, I’m not your personal fetch-and-carry bitch, Archer.”  
  
“Retail shopping typically causes me to break out in hives, but I do so adore cashmere,” Jeremy admitted, picking up one bag to peek admiringly inside.  “Terribly bourgeois of me, I know, but I simply couldn’t resist.”  
  
Simon privately thought Jeremy’s lack of resistance might have had more to do with the lengthy grope Simon had managed inside the fitting room, more so than any sort of love of that particular sweater.  It was black, of course.  The sweater, not the fitting room.  
  
“Whoop dee doo, you can wear it tonight to the expensive dinner you’re going to buy me later to make up for all this shopping.”  
  
Jeremy managed to look surprised, which wasn’t a look he usually pulled off very well.  “Well, of course.  You didn’t really think I was going to cook for you, did you?   _Here?_  Shopping is the single concession toward domesticity that I’m willing to make in a weekend.”  
  
Simon made a little  _pfft_  noise.  “Ha fucking ha.  So listen.  Dinner?  I want steak.  A great big bloody steak, with a trillion calories and a cubic ton of cholesterol.  Real man food, not sissy stuff like, like sushi.”  
  
“If you were to request anything  _but_  beefsteak, I don’t think I would survive the shock.”  
  
“That’s because I’m a real man and need real food to keep me virile.”  Jeremy made a slight sound that might have been a laugh.  “Now, I think I need a nap if I’m going to make it through the rest of the night.”  
  
Jeremy stifled a yawn behind one hand.  “Mmm.  Yes, I quite agree with you.  A lie-down does have some appeal.”  
  
Leaving the bags in a heap on the floor, they took turns using the bathroom, which was really stupid because the penthouse had, like,  _three separate bathrooms_.  Simon quickly stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed, and tried not to watch Jeremy undress, but didn’t have much luck.  Jeremy had a way of slithering out of his clothes that Simon had always really, really liked to watch.  
  
Wearing nothing but that ridiculous skimpy black band that he called underwear, Jeremy fussed around the room for a minute, picking up his clothing and draping it over a chair instead of actually hanging it up.  Simon watched him for a minute, then finally patted the bed next to him.  “Hey, you, quit the futzing around and come here.”  
  
Jeremy drifted over to the bed and looked down at him, the corner of his lip turned up.  “Yes?”  
  
Simon sort of flapped the edge of the comforter.  “Come on, already.  Sit.”  
  
Jeremy sat.  
  
“Good boy, now  _stay_.”  
  
Jeremy’s brow rose.  “Do you know, Simon, I suddenly have the urge to lift my tail and brace my legs to be mounted.”  
  
“Are you mocking me?  I think you are.  Just shut up and get in.”  
  
Finally, Jeremy did slide between the sheets, wiggling around a little until he was comfortable.  Unfortunately, Simon was lying on his back, and Jeremy was lying on his side and making sure  _every inch of him_ was pressed up against Simon’s almost-naked body.  He thought maybe he should have worn his jeans to bed.  
  
“Hmm.  Very nice.  Bark?” Jeremy offered.  
  
Simon waggled a finger and gave him a stern look, which awkward because their faces were only a couple of inches apart.  “Down, boy.  Bad dog, no bone for you.”  
  
Jeremy made a face.  “How very disappointing.  Well, there’s nothing for it but to go to sleep, then.”  
  
“Damn straight.  Sleep now, bone later.”  
  
Simon did his best to ignore the smooth warm length of Jeremy against his side and turned on his own, facing away toward the wall instead of facing Jeremy, because then all his resolve to take a nap would go floating out the damned window.  
  
Undeterred, Jeremy molded himself around the curve of Simon’s back and splayed his fingers across Simon’s stomach, inching downward toward dangerous territory.  His tongue made a wet swipe across the back of Simon’s neck just below the hairline.  “Is that a promise?”  
  
Simon swore the temperature on that little bruised spot went up ten degrees.  He whimpered just a little bit, but moved the hand up to the dubious safety of his chest and curled their fingers together.  To keep Jeremy from molesting him in his sleep, Simon told himself.  “ _Sleep_ , Archer.”  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Saturday, 7:18pm_  
  
Sleep, they did.  For a couple of hours, in fact.  But contrary to Simon’s promise, there was no  _bone_  when they woke up in the early evening.  It was tempting,  _very_  tempting, what with Jeremy’s sleep-warm skin pressed up against Simon’s back and all.  Jeremy  _tried_ , and for a few minutes Simon seriously considered it.  Jeremy must have been sore as hell in the morning, but Simon could say with absolute honesty and very little guilt that it hadn’t been entirely his fault.  But because Simon wasn’t completely without empathy, he resisted the temptation.  It was a sacrifice he was prepared to make, since he definitely had plans for Jeremy’s ass that night.  
  
Somehow Simon managed to hold Jeremy off until he was able to escape to the safety of the shower, but it wasn’t easy with Jeremy constantly  _touching_  him and  _looking_  at him and  _purring_  at him.  For a while, Simon thought he might have to resort to beating Jeremy off with a stick.  Simon also thought that just maybe he showered more when Jeremy was around than he did the entire rest of the year.  
  
But then the shower turned out not to be safe after all, because Jeremy snuck in while Simon was rinsing his hair, half blind and defenseless, and blew him right there under the hot water.  Then because Simon was still half in a daze, he gave Jeremy a nice soapy hand job in gratitude.  
  
Technically, Jeremy’s ass remained out of harm's way.  They were both satisfied with the compromise.  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
Simon brought, and in fact  _owned_ , practically nothing dressier than jeans and a variety of casual shirts.  Lacking a gun holster to worry about or an ankle strap to conceal, he’d packed jeans that fit a little tighter than the ones he usually wore to work, (and was really glad he’d done so when he saw the glassy-eyed expression that Archer got when he saw Simon’s junk in them) and shrugged into the filmy red silk t-shirt Jeremy insisted he buy.  Simon thought it was sort of too tight and faggy, and way too expensive, and Jeremy and the flaming sales clerk insisted on calling it  _carmine_  and assured him it would be fabulous – they actually said  _fabulous_  – with his coloring.  For all those reasons he was going to refuse to buy it, but he bought it anyway, feeling like an utter fool and vaguely embarrassed by the purchase, while  _also_  being kind of relieved that Jeremy hadn’t offered to buy it  _for_  him.  That shit just wasn’t manly, to let your – boyfriend?  lover?  partner?  unspoken but semi-permanent hookup?  He’d never bothered to figure it out – buy you clothes.  
  
Once he’d put the shirt on, tugged on the boots he’d brought instead of sneakers, adding another inch and a half to his height, and finally looked in the mirror, though, he had to admit that just maybe (God forbid) Jeremy was right, because the shirt  _did_  look pretty awesome on him, because he was just an awesome sort of guy, and plus it made his chest and biceps look really ripped.  But the minute he got home, the shirt was going to go straight in the closet, and no one from the team was ever going to see it.   _Ever_.  
  
Jeremy dressed, to no great surprise on Simon’s part, in black.  Since it was officially autumn, he had traded summer-weight linen in favor of leather, but it was still black.  As a concession to his afternoon shopping spree, he also wore his new cashmere crew neck sweater.  Again, black.  Simon suspected he’d put it on with tongue firmly in cheek, but whatever the reason, Simon had to admit that the sweater looked pretty damned good on him.  Nice and clingy, molding to his pecs and hugging his abs.  The sleek watch he’d bought that afternoon – an astronomically costly black and white gold Girard-Perregaux little job that Simon had never heard of – looked pretty good, too.  
  
“Damn, boy, you look fiiiiine,” Simon said once he picked his tongue up off the floor.  
  
“It will do, I suppose,” Jeremy said with a smile, brushing an invisible wrinkle from his chest, then reached for his jacket.  
  
“Aw,  _hell_  no,” Simon barked, plucking the jacket right out of Jeremy’s hand.  “No jacket, and especially not  _that_  jacket.  One, you are  _not_  going to cover up all that hot.  And B, I don’t think we’re in danger of passing a bank with the safe door left open.”  
  
Expressionless, Jeremy reached for the jacket.  
  
“ _No_ ,” Simon said more firmly, holding it out of reach.  “Don’t.”  
  
“It hasn’t escaped my notice that  _you_  happen to be wearing a jacket,” Jeremy said with a lift of an eyebrow.  
  
“Yeah, because this fucking t-shirt is like wearing tissue paper, and  _you’re_  wearing a sweater.  And unlike someone I could name,  _my_  jacket doesn’t conceal an entire arsenal of illicit weapons and chemically things and, and stealing-type stuff.”  
  
Jeremy sighed.  “Simon, I told you I’m here on Ethan’s business.   _Legitimate_  business, I might remind you.  The jacket is entirely safe – more or less.  You can check it, if you’d like.”  
  
Holding the jacket over his head, Simon glared.  “That  _more or less_  is what worries me.  I’ve seen the shit you carry in that thing, remember?   _You’re not wearing it tonight_.  Full stop, tough noogies, and neener neener neener.”  
  
Jeremy flexed slightly at the knees, giving Simon just time enough to think he was going to bend down to tie his shoe, and the next thing Simon knew, Jeremy had propelled himself straight off his feet into the air and soared by Simon, plucking the jacket neatly out of Simon’s fingertips.  He landed gracefully, putting one hand out to steady himself, and slipped on the jacket.  
  
“Thank you, Simon,” he said pleasantly, shrugging to settle the leather neatly across his shoulders.  
  
Simon did a double take.  It had happened so quickly that it was over and done almost before he knew what happened.  He growled and threw his hands up in frustration.  “Okay, fine, but  _no funny business_.  Just remember if you pull any shit I’m gonna have to bust you, and then you won’t be getting laid tonight.  Not by me, anyway.  Maybe some guy named Stinky Joe down in the NYC jail, but not with this dick.”  
  
Jeremy’s half-smile turned a bit predatory.  He touched his fingers to his chest and dipped his head in a sardonic little bow.  “You have my word that I shall be the model of decorum.”  
  
Despite his irritation, Simon chuckled.  “Christ, I hope not.  I wouldn’t know what to do with you.”  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Saturday, 8:51pm_  
  
The restaurant Jeremy chose wasn’t too far from the hotel, maybe ten or twelve blocks.  They decided to have the concierge call a cab rather than deal with the car-and-driver arrangement, in case they wanted to walk back to the hotel after dinner.  It was a gorgeous evening, one of those spectacular early-fall days where the sunlight was still warm, but the nights were brisk and clear.  
  
The restaurant was agreeably unpretentious, and the maître d’ hailed them like old friends.  Simon couldn’t tell whether Jeremy had actually been there before, or if the hundred dollar bill discreetly passed along had guaranteed their welcome, but in either case, it didn’t matter.  The atmosphere was relaxed, their table was surprisingly quiet and secluded, the service unobtrusive, and the food was some of the best Simon had had in a long time.  
  
Dinner was every bit as caloric and stuffed with cholesterol as Simon hoped it would be.  He ordered a Porterhouse so large it would have made Fred Flintstone envious, drank two beers with dinner, and sucked down half a pot of excellent coffee instead of ordering dessert.  
  
Jeremy made an impressive dent in his own dinner, some type of shellfish and pasta thing, sort of making Simon wonder if the only time he really ate for enjoyment was with Simon.  Jeremy also, shockingly, ordered a beer with his meal.  Not the flat, fruity, watered down crap, either.  He ordered the same as Simon – Sammy Lager on tap.  And even more shockingly, finished it.  
  
“Holy shit, who are you and what did you do with Archer?  Not-so-big guy, got a crap-ton of money, sort of effeminate?” Simon said in mock wonder when Jeremy ordered his second beer.  
  
“I’m on holiday until Monday, and neither of us is driving, so when in Rome, et cetera,” Jeremy answered patiently, spearing a scallop with his fork.  “And to the best of my recollection, you’ve never mistaken me for a woman.”  His lips closed slowly, meaningfully around the tines of his fork.  
  
To that, Simon had nothing to say.  He did have to shift a little in his seat, though.  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
Simon did notice, and promised himself to give Jeremy shit over it later, that because Jeremy  _was_  sort of a wuss, most of the second beer sat untouched.  He watched it with increasing longing until the waiter began to clear the table, then snatched it out from under Jeremy’s nose and drained the glass in a few long pulls.  
By the time Jeremy paid the bill (a couple of hundreds tucked in the folder, Simon peeked), and they nearly rolled their way to the door, he was nearly wired with food and caffeine, and had a decent little beer buzz going.  Simon practically levitated out of the restaurant.  “Two wild and crazy guys, that’s us,” he chortled.  “Out in the big city for a night on the town.  Come on, Archer, let’s find some trouble to get into.”  
  
“Believe me when I say you’re trouble enough alone without looking for someone else’s,” Jeremy said affably, waving away the valet’s offer to call them a cab.  “It’s a lovely evening.  Let’s walk a bit, shall we?”  
  
Simon thought he should be insulted, but it was too much effort to get pissed off, and he was too full and buzzed to worry about it.  “Yeah, that sounds good.  But you might have to roll me part of the way, because damn, I’m stuffed.”  Jeremy laughed.  
  
They walked a few blocks, their arms occasionally brushing together, and a couple times their hands accidentally-on-purpose bumped, and neither was in a rush to pull away all that quickly.  Simon chattered away, fueled by the amount of caffeine and alcohol stripping the lining from his veins.  
  
Jeremy was mostly quiet and listened, occasionally breaking in with a comment or question, and laughed in the right places.  He lit one of those froofy English cigarettes, and Simon occasionally stole a drag or two, holding Jeremy’s hand to his mouth instead of taking the cigarette himself, justifying to himself that if he wasn’t actually holding it, he wasn’t really smoking.  
  
“Oh yeah,” Simon exclaimed, doing a funny little shuffling two-step as he walked along.  “Because we were busy _shopping_  all day, I forgot to tell you.  Mike proposed to Sandra!  Can you believe it?  I always knew he had  _cojones_ , but Christ, I didn’t know they were  _that_  big.  Big fucking brass ones.  Un-be-fucking-lievable.”  
  
That announcement was enough to make Jeremy stop in place.  “Really,” he mused.  “Now that  _is_  a surprise.  And her answer was – “  
  
Simon snorted.  “And I quote:  ’Ha ha ha ha  _thwump_.’  End quote.”  
  
Jeremy let out a chortle of laughter.  “That doesn’t come as a surprise, really.  Ms. Leone didn’t strike me as the marrying kind.  Neither did your Mike.  In fact, I can’t think of a single person on your team who may  _be_  the marrying kind.”  
  
“Yeah, well don’t look at me, either,” Simon muttered.  
  
Jeremy gave him one of those irritating unreadable looks, and Simon flapped his hand dismissively at him.  “What, you want to get gay married or something?”  
  
Jeremy looked faintly green for a moment, so Simon figured he was safe and started walking again. “But someday, you just watch, they’ll do it.  Get married, I mean.  You should see them together, you know?  I never thought it would last this long.”  He blundered along, entirely failing to see the irony of that statement.  “Someday they’ll have a bunch of cute multiracial babies, and when they get out of line, Sandy will punch them in the forehead like she does to Mike.”  
  
Jeremy had to trot a few steps to catch up.  “That’s probably true, the poor things.  I would ask you to pass along my best wishes, but I suspect you take pains to avoid mentioning my name any more than necessary.”  
  
Simon tucked his hands in his pockets and didn’t say anything right away.  He finally offered, “They still know, you know?  The team, I mean.  That this  _us_  thing is still going on.  They – the collective they – might be a couple bolts short of a hardware store, but none of ‘em are stupid.  I disappear every so often, get all mysterious, they kind of know what’s up, you know?  And why are you still letting me say ‘you know’?”  
  
Jeremy was so quiet that if Simon couldn’t see him in his peripheral vision, he might have thought Jeremy had slipped off into the night without him.  When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful.  “Is it a problem for you?”  
  
“Nah, not anymore.”  Simon shrugged and kept walking.  “It was a little, at first.  You know all that shit.  The flag, the stuff left in my desk - you wouldn’t believe some of the things they sell in porn shops, holy Christ.  Well, maybe you would, with you being a great big pervert and all.”  
  
Jeremy chuckled.  “You’ve barely scratched the surface of my perversions, Simon, but in the best interest of our conversation, I’ll allow it.”  
  
Simon smiled.  “The first time I skipped poker night, they kind of figured it out.  Except Nate.  Johnny had to tell Nate.  Real gently, you know?  And Nate says ‘hi,’ by the way.  But they don’t say much now.  They don’t really have a right to anymore?  As long as my dick does not equal work, it’s cool.”  
  
“Unlike before,” Jeremy said wryly.  
  
Simon looked uncomfortable for a minute.  “Yeah, exactly like that.”  
  
$ $ $ $ $


	3. Chapter 3

$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Saturday, 10:27pm_  
  
The racket from the club was audible a full block before it ever came into view.  Even outside on the sidewalk, with sirens wailing (Simon instinctively started to turn and reach for the weapon he wasn’t carrying every time one screamed by on the street) and people shouting and car horns honking, it was  _loud_.  
  
 ** _Rendezvous_** , the place was called according to the neon purple electronic sign over the door.  The line waiting for entrance was halfway up the block.  
  
“Jesus, would you look at all the pretty,” Simon marveled, stopping to gawk.  He’d never seen so many hot people in one place before.  There were boys, girls, boys dressed as girls, girls dressed as dudes, twinks, bears, lipstick lesbians, some mixed groups, and a few regular boy/girl pairs, all liquored up and ready to party.  
  
Jeremy had no choice but to stop, too, and he turned to check out the view.  “Hmm.  A rather handsome lot, to be certain.”  
  
Struck by an impulse that Simon couldn’t explain, but was probably motivated by beer, he grabbed a handful of Jeremy’s shirt and tried to pull him off the sidewalk toward the line.  “Hey, come on, let’s go in.  I want a beer before I lose my buzz.”  
  
Jeremy resisted Simon’s insistent pull on his arm and pointedly cleared his throat.  “Simon, you do realize that is an, ah,  _alternative_  dance club?”  
  
Simon glanced again at the line and shrugged.  “And I’ve got a great big rainbow flag on the wall over my desk, so yeah, I think I figured that out.”  
  
Jeremy simply looked amused, as usual.  “And do you make it a practice to frequent gay dance clubs, Simon?”  
  
“Well, yeah, sure, I’ve, uh, been to a couple.”  Even hooked up a few times, not often enough to make him a slut, but Christ, he was a red-blooded, perpetually horny American man married to his job.  How long was he supposed to go without getting laid?  
  
To Simon’s surprise, Jeremy’s expression went utterly blank.  “Is this a common occurrence for you, then?”  
  
Simon’s stomach clenched.  “Um…well, not for a long time, if you really want to get nosy about it.”  The last time had been a few months before he’d met Jeremy, before that Morning Star clusterfuck.  If anyone was counting, which Simon  _wasn’t_.   
  
 _Shit, distract him before he thinks about that one too much._  
  
“So what do you say,  _Jeremiah_?”  Right on cue, just as Simon hoped, Jeremy’s right eye twitched.  “I know you can dance, you did with Sandy the first time I met you,  _Mr. Crown_.  You two looked pretty smooth on the floor, too.  She said you didn’t even step on her foot once.”  
  
The blank look finally melted off Jeremy’s face, and the knot in Simon’s stomach started to fade along with it.  “Well, obviously I know  _how_  to dance, as you’ve pointed out.”  
  
“So why don’t you want to go?  We don’t have to dance, anyway.  I just want beer.”  
  
“It’s simply nothing I expected to do when we went to dinner this evening,” Jeremy hedged.  
  
Simon thought about that non-excuse for a minute.   “Hey, I know, you’ve never been to a club before, right?”  
  
Jeremy actually cringed a little.  Simon turned to stare at him as a whole new side of Jeremy he never would have expected blossomed in his imagination.  “Holy shit, you  _have_!” he exclaimed with a little cry of triumph.  
  
Jeremy shifted on his feet, avoiding looking Simon in the eye.  “Er, yes, I suppose the occasion has presented itself once or twice.”  
  
Simon burst into laughter.  “Oh Jesus, Mr. Super Suave goes slumming!  Hot damn, you’re  _Eurotrash_!”  He laughed until he started to wonder about the last time  _Jeremy_  had been to a club, and then it wasn’t so funny anymore.  
  
“Well, it certainly wasn’t something I made a habit of.  In any case, it’s been a rather long while since the last time.”  Jeremy sounded indignant at first, but slowly the little smile came back to his face.  “These days I’ve taken up another hobby who takes up what little spare time I have.”  
  
Oh.  Well, that cleared  _that_  up.  Simon made a point  _not_  to think about why Jeremy’s admission was such a relief.  
  
“Aw, come on then.  You’ll fit right in with us common folk.”  
  
Just like that, Jeremy’s voice suddenly went all smooth and silky.  “If it means that much to you, perhaps I could be persuaded, for the right price.  Have you anything with which to entice me?”  
  
Every single hair on Simon’s body prickled at the blatant  _invitation_  in Jeremy’s tone.  “Hey, you aren’t soliciting a bribe from a federal agent, are you?” he said, relieved to hear that his voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.  
  
The artless look on Jeremy’s face completely belied the tone of his voice.  “Certainly not, Agent Drake.  I was simply offering an opportunity for your -  _enjoyment_.”  
  
Simon swallowed hard.  Damn, there  _were so many possibilities_  there it was hard to choose.  He picked one somewhat at random.  “Well, in that case - I could, uh, offer to blow you, I guess.”  
  
Jeremy’s eyes went wide, and his throat worked once, his omnipresent, amused little half-smile slowly curling into a real one.  “Mm,” he purred, and Simon knew he’d hit gold.   “That proposal does have some appeal.  A rather large amount of it, in fact, but I confess it sounded just the slightest bit hesitant.  Am I so repugnant?”  
  
“Yeah, you’re sort of ugly and you smell funny,” Simon lied, “but I really want that beer.  I’ll suck it up and deal with it.”  Jeremy uttered a sharp bark of laughter and Simon, realizing he’d walked right into that one, slapped his own forehead.  “Oh God.  Just kill me now.  And you - shut up.”  
  
“Shutting up,” Jeremy promised, albeit with another little chuckle, but he did indeed shut up.  
  
Simon looked at the line again. “So go throw some money at the bouncer and get us past the great unwashed.  I’ll even buy the first round.”  
  
“How generous of you,” Jeremy said dryly, but he did start moving toward the entry.  
  
“Yeah, we can’t all be felony thieves, or I’d be out of a job.  Now did out that wallet, Daddy Warbucks.  That beer’s calling my name.”  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
 The club was packed to capacity, probably violating a couple NYC fire codes.  
  
“’Scuse us, coming through.  Step aside.  Fuck you, too, asshole.”  
  
Simon elbowed his way through the crowd near the door like a bull in the proverbial china shop, clearing the way using both his size and sheer force of personality.  Jeremy simply followed close behind in the path Simon had made, the sea of humanity closing in behind him as soon as he’d passed.  
  
Inside the club, the sound ratcheted up in volume from simply  _loud_  to somewhere close to  _nuclear holocaust_.  The noise was so crushing Simon felt for a minute like he’d stuck his head in a vice, then pounded it repeatedly with a hammer.  The bass thumped so loud it approached sonic boom level, thudding through his chest so hard it was almost painful.  Simon wondered when his eardrums would start to bleed.  
  
From what he could see of the bar and the dance floor, the theme of the club seemed to be some sort of ‘neo-contemporary gorgeous’.  The main bar was shiny black, huge, and stretched along one side wall from one end of the main room straight to the back.  The walls were painted black matte.  Everything else except the dance floor was done in brushed chrome.  
  
To complement the ‘gorgeous’ part of the décor were the bartenders.  Every one of them measured somewhere along the spectrum of attractive, from ‘cute and perky’ to ‘gym rat’ to ‘runway fashion model’ all the way to ‘bend me over a chair and fuck me.’  
  
Black clothing was de rigueur - snug black pants or short-shorts on all the boys, and the ones who bothered with shirts at all wore them tight and black.  Much like Simon’s own, he noticed, except he was the one wearing faggy red.   _Carmine_.  Whatever.  Jeremy fit right in, Simon was amused to note.  The ones who hadn’t bothered to finish getting dressed before they came to work were smooth and almost hairless, either naturally so or carefully shaved, and spattered and swirled with splashes of  body paint like the world’s sexiest abstract art.  Simon snickered to see the word SEXY painted in blazing pink across one guy’s lower back, just above the crack of his ass, and wondered who’d painted it, one of his coworkers or a boyfriend.  
  
The lone female bartender was one of the most stunning women Simon had ever seen.  Tall, slim and fit, a really spectacular set of knockers, a complexion like cocoa, and cheekbones sharp enough to ski down.  She did have a shirt on, Simon was a little disappointed to see, tied up high in a knot under her breasts (Simon was also impressed with the sexy sunburst tattooed around her belly button).  The boy toys at the bar hadn’t let her off the hook with the body paint, either.  She, or one of the guys, had swiped a few streaks of the same body paint over her stomach and across her cheekbones, giving her face an exotic and fierce look.  
  
The effect, however, was entirely ruined when she opened her mouth to take their drink order, and a shrill, New York-accented bleat blasted Simon in the face.  
  
“Now that is a damn waste of woman.” Simon wagged his finger and bitched after he ordered their drinks – beer for him, and club soda with lime for Jeremy, because he was a wuss.  “I should have figured she was too good to be true.  A smoking body and a gorgeous face, but hearing that fucking voice is like chewing Styrofoam.”  
  
“It is rather a shame,” Jeremy agreed with a slight grimace.  “She’s quite lovely, otherwise.”  
  
Simon turned to him and raised an eye brow.  “Hold the phone - Archer’s ogling  _women_?  Is this something I should be concerned about here, or are you just admiring from an, an artistic perspective or something?”  
  
Jeremy’s lip twitched just a little.  “You might want to sit down for this startling bit of news, Simon,” he answered, “but my life did not  _begin_  the moment I met you.”  
  
This revelation gave Simon pause.  Not the part about Jeremy’s life, obviously, but the other part.  Jeremy, probably the most enthusiastic, natural bottom Simon’s ever known, having sex with a  _woman_ , was just too surreal to give it serious thought – but there was something about Jeremy’s expression that left Simon realizing there were plenty of things that Simon still didn’t know about Jeremy, and just maybe didn’t  _want_  to know.  
  
“Uh, yeah, that list of things people really don’t want to hear about?  That’s right near the top, so do me a favor and don’t bring it up again, okay?” Simon finally said, and that was the end of that.  
  
When the bartender returned with their drinks and Simon tossed a few bills on the bar to cover their tab, Jeremy slipped out of his jacket and motioned to Simon in an odd little impatient way that Simon assumed meant to take his off too, so he did and handed it to Jeremy.  
  
“Excuse me, love, I wonder if you’d be a dear and watch these for us?”  Jeremy said once he caught her eye.  Simon noticed the fifty dollar bill sliding discreetly out of Jeremy’s palm across the bar, just peeking out from under the bundle of jackets he passed over.  
  
Simon almost sputtered at the way she hung on every pleasantly accented English word, or maybe it was the huge tip she’d just picked up for a $4 beer and a glass of water with a chunk of fruit in it.  “I’d really rather not leave this one in the coat room,” Jeremy said, ignoring Simon’s choking sound.  “It was frightfully expensive and would be a terrible shame to lose.  Thanks ever so.”  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
Drinks in hand, they prowled the club for a while, watching the dancers and the DJ up on the raised dais.  It was too loud in the main room to really talk, but after a little exploring, they found an attached back room with a secondary bar and a few billiards tables.  It was quieter back there, but still afforded great audio, meaning it was still damned loud, but Simon didn’t fear quite so badly about permanent hearing loss.  They watched a couple bear types playing 9-ball ( _two guys, four balls_ , Simon almost lost it)  at one table, and a foursome, two men and two women, at another, but Simon got bored after a while, so they wandered around a little more, mostly people watching and listening to the music.  
  
They struck up a conversation with a couple standing at the bar, who naturally noticed Jeremy’s smooth British accent – Simon could strip off his clothes and march around naked singing the Halleluiah Chorus and all people would notice was Jeremy’s accent.  Making conversation, the two asked what Jeremy did for a living and where he was from.  Simon almost choked on his beer, and it was all he could do keep a straight face as ‘Evan Townshend’ concocted a story about being in the appraisal business, whose job took him all over the world.  However, it was terribly unfortunate that he so rarely had business in the United States.  
  
When it was Simon’s turn, he told them, with the same completely straight face, that he’d just hooked up with ‘Evan’ at another club, that he was a well driller, and he’d drilled in some of the most dangerous and unusual locations in the world.  It wasn’t entirely off the mark, in an illusory sort of way.  He drilled Jeremy every chance he got, and Jeremy  _was_  pretty unusual.  
  
Soon, the couple excused themselves and went off to dance.  Simon abandoned his empty glass on a table and tapped Jeremy’s shoulder to get his attention.  “Hey Archer, order me a beer, I gotta take a piss.”  
  
“Very classy, Simon.”  Jeremy rolled his eyes, but didn’t say no, so Simon, figuring there was a reasonable chance a beer would be waiting for him when he returned, headed toward the bathroom.  
  
There were two restrooms, one marked MEN and one WOMEN, but from the look of the lines outside, it didn’t seem to make a difference.  Even the line at the ostensible men’s room was like any ladies’ room, except at least half of the people in either line definitely weren’t chicks.  There were some ladies, but there were also a bunch of guys of every range on the masculinity scale, and a couple that Simon thought maybe were packing tackle between their legs, but were also distressingly pretty.  Not quite Simon’s type, but they were undoubtedly attractive, in an unnerving, über-feminine sort of way.  
  
He considered waiting in one of the lines, but his beers and coffee with dinner were really starting to get impatient.  Choosing the one marked MEN because he couldn’t quite get around the idea of pissing in a ladies’ room, he pushing past a couple androgynous-looking boys (or maybe they were girls, Simon wasn’t sure, but they were really hot, Jesus Christ he was starting to worry that he was the ugliest person in the place) and found an open urinal.  He took care of business, trying to do his thing without giving a free show to the loiterers hanging around hoping for such an eventuality, then zipped up and went to wash his hands.  
  
On the counter by the sink there was a little basket filled with plastic baggies tied with colored pieces of ribbon.  Curious, Simon picked one up and examined it.  Inside each bag was a couple condoms and little single-use tubes of lube.  A little paper label was stuck to the front.  “Prevent the spread of HIV, AIDS, Hepatitis, and STDs.  Be Safe - Use a condom EVERY TIME” it sternly warned him.  
  
Yeah, that was good advice, as much as Simon might hate it.  Jeremy was clean, and Simon’s last battery of tests on the annual Bureau health screening was negative, but he made sure to wrap up anyway.  While Simon was safe  _now_ , there were no guarantees that one day he wouldn’t accidentally be exposed in the line of duty.  Perps and vics both had an irritating habit of bleeding, puking, and spitting, and you just never knew when a needle stick from one junkie scumbag or an errant drop of blood spatter might kiss his squeaky clean medical history goodbye.  There was no way in hell he was going to risk Jeremy’s safety, too.  Christ knew Jeremy took enough risks already, without adding that one to the mix.  
  
He bounced the baggie in his hand for a minute, imagining the look on Jeremy’s face if Simon came at him waggling a bright yellow dick.  If Jeremy laughed too hard, Simon would just have to shut him up somehow, and he knew just the thing to stuff in his mouth to take care of it.  Snickering, he tore off the clear plastic baggie and threw it in the garbage, slipping the condoms and lube into one pocket.  That shit wasn’t cheap, and he didn’t have spare hundred dollar bills falling out of his wallet like Mr.  _I bought a $25,000 watch today because I needed to know what time it was_  Archer.  
  
$ $ $ $ $


	4. Chapter 4

$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Saturday, 10:45pm_  
  
By the time Simon washed his hands, fended off a couple invitations to dance and a straight-on proposition of a blowjob in a stall (heh, he was spending the night in NYC with  _Archer_ , there was no way he was going to ruin the prime for  _that_ with an anonymous suck in a nasty public bathroom), Jeremy was nowhere in sight.  
  
 _Huh, now where the fuck did he go?_  Simon scanned the dance floor, feeling a bit voyeuristic watching all those bodies gyrating in stop-motion among the strobe lights, but didn’t turn up Jeremy.  
  
After a few more minutes of searching, he finally found Jeremy in the back, in the smaller room.  Jeremy was standing near the end of the bar talking on his cell phone.  As Simon made his way through the door, Jeremy smiled and spoke a few words, then laughed and nodded his head.  From the easy way Jeremy was talking, Simon assumed it was Annabelle on the line.  Rather than interrupt, Simon leaned against the wall and crossed his arms until Jeremy was done.  
  
Standing against the side wall, it struck Simon oddly how much younger Jeremy looked than himself.  The two of them were nearly the same age, just a year or two past thirty, but while Simon’s features had taken on a slightly firmer edge and a couple very fine lines creased his eyes, Jeremy easily blended with this twenty-something crowd.  They’d met over four years ago, and Simon could swear Jeremy hadn’t aged a day since.  
  
Just then Jeremy snapped his phone shut.   _Finally_ , Simon muttered, and had just taken a step forward when a young Asian man Simon had noticed hovering near Jeremy’s shoulder made his move.  He stepped in closer and put his hand familiarly on Jeremy’s arm, smiling, and said something, pointing at Jeremy’s phone.  
  
Simon stopped, watching curiously as Jeremy smiled and said a few words, then flipped the phone back open and started pointing at it.  The younger guy leaned closer, glancing occasionally at Jeremy and talking earnestly, and then appeared to lose his balance and stumbled.  He smiled, his hand now resting lightly on Jeremy’s lower back like he was trying to steady himself, and continued to talk.  
  
 _Jesus, that was the lamest attempt at a pickup move I’ve ever seen,_  Simon thought, starting to get just a little bit annoyed.  
  
Jeremy, apparently oblivious, smiled and bent his head over the phone once again.  The guy was hot, no doubt about it, not quite as tall as even Jeremy, with a tight little body and a gorgeous smile, and once upon a time Simon might have considered giving him a turn, but right now the guy was pissing him right the fuck off.  
  
The young man’s hand wandered along the seam of Jeremy’s leather pants.  Up and down, straying really too God-damned close to the curve of Jeremy’s ass for Simon’s comfort, and Jeremy didn’t look like he minded one bit.  There was no way in hell he couldn’t feel it, but he was just smiling and thumbing at the keypad as the guy leaned closer, glancing up and smiling in the pretext of asking questions.  
  
Simon closed the twenty foot gap between them in four long strides and edged his body between them, slapping the flat of his hand against the young man’s chest.  Not hard enough to really be painful, but hard enough so the guy knew he meant business.  “Hey, pal, you want to give him some space there?”  
  
The young man jumped about a half a foot, raising his hand defensively.  “Chill, man, who the fu – “  
  
If Simon had been watching the scene happen to someone else, he would have thought it was funny as hell, watching the kid’s eyes get bigger and bigger as he looked Simon over from his feet to the top of his head, all six foot three-plus-boots and two hundred-plus strapping pounds of him, except it  _wasn’t_  happening to someone else, and Simon didn’t really find it all that amusing.  
  
The guy must have sensed some potentially serious shit coming down, because he took a step away, his hand still raised.  “Fuck, man, take it easy.  I was just looking at his phone, all right?  That’s all.”  
  
Jeremy watched it all with aplomb, never saying a word, his head turning back and forth like he was watching a tennis match, that damn little smirk of his never leaving his face.  
  
Some part of Simon thought he might be overreacting just a little, but the other part of him really didn’t give a fuck.  This twink was pissing Simon _right the hell off,_ and _Jeremy thought it was funny_.  
  
“Yeah, and his phone was attached to his ass, right?”  Jeremy’s eyes got very round when Simon planted a large hand on the seat of his pants and squeezed, but he didn’t say a word.  “ _This_  ass?  It’s mine, so fuck off.  Go find your own.”  
  
The guy made the right decision.  “Hey, whatever, man.  I’m gone.”  He wavered just long enough to dart an apologetic look at Jeremy, then disappeared into the masses.  
  
Refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead, Simon turned to the bar and grabbed the full bottle of beer that was sitting in front of Jeremy.  Maybe it was the one Jeremy had bought for him, because it was sitting next to a glass of fizzy water and lime, but if wasn’t his beer before, it was his  _now_ , and he didn’t really give a shit if it wasn’t.  He hated the tacky plastic bottles at bars and sporting venues, but it was cold, and it was beer, and he was pissed.  Upending the bottle, he chugged about half of it down, wincing at the sudden blinding stab of brain freeze.  
  
The air shifted beside him and Jeremy moved a step closer.  Rubbing his temple, Simon stiffened when Jeremy leaned in very close, his lips just brushing against Simon’s jaw.  “Simon – “ he said very softly.  
  
“Not talking to you,” Simon retorted, wondering as the words left his mouth why he sounded like a petulant five-year-old.   _Oh yeah, way to act your age, Simon.  That’s really going to help.  Next he’s going to ask if you need a nap and a blankie._  
  
“Simon – “ Jeremy tried again.  
  
A hand dropped lightly just inside the curve of his elbow.  Simon shrugged it off and snapped, “You want to tell me what that was about, or did I just grow a _fuck me over, world, I’m an asshole_  tattoo on my forehead?”  
  
“Oh dear, are we going to have a quarrel?”  
  
“Gee, Archer, I don’t know, are we?”  Simon finally turned his head and nailed Jeremy with a cold stare.  “Yeah, I think we are.  I fly all the way to New York to spend the weekend and I’m gone ten fucking minutes and come back to find some guy with his hand on your ass.  Hey, I know!  Why don’t we ask him back to your hotel and have a little three-way?  And because I’m such a, a nice guy, you can even have the middle.”  
  
Simon left that opening a mile wide, but it was to Jeremy’s credit that he didn’t bite.  But Jeremy, also being an annoying son of a bitch, wouldn’t let the thing go, because he was tenacious that way.  “Simon, as I’ve attempted to tell you twice, I only meant to have a bit of fun.  I truly didn’t mean to upset you.”  
  
“ _Fun_ , huh?” Realizing he was dangerously close to shouting, Simon gritted his teeth to keep his voice down and ground out, “So it was  _fun_  letting me embarrass myself in front of some twenty year old twink who – justifiably – wanted into your pants?”  
  
Jeremy said quite contritely, “I’m sorry, Simon.  It was really rather childish of me, and all I can offer is my heartfelt apology.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  It maybe wasn’t the most eloquent thing to say when Jeremy was trying to apologize, but it felt good - _cathartic_  - to say it.  
  
Struck silent for the moment, Jeremy gave Simon a long appraising look that Simon couldn’t quite figure out.  Finally he said slowly, with just a hint of a smile touching his lips, “My goodness, Simon, could it be that you might possibly be jealous?”  
  
“Fuck no, I just don’t want, uh, sloppy seconds.”  Still seething, Simon stared straight ahead, too irritated (and mortified, maybe, because his anger did sort of feel like it carried some undertones of jealousy with it) to give more than a passing glance to the sleeves of the bartender’s tight black t-shirt stretched over the tribal tattoos around his biceps.  
  
Jeremy was infuriatingly silent beside him, standing there with that shit-eating little smirk on his face.  
  
When it was clear Jeremy wasn’t going to say anything further, Simon took another sip of his beer and blew out a long breath through his nose.  Jeremy was earning points with that little hang-dog expression, and if Simon was being completely honest with himself, there wasn’t really any harm done.  The guy was gone, and Jeremy’s ass wasn’t.  
  
When he could trust himself to speak calmly, he said very, very carefully, staring somewhere over Jeremy’s head, “So, did you know I was there?”  
  
“Er, yes,” Jeremy said, with a hint of smugness to his voice.  “I did.  I saw you as you came through the door.  You’re rather difficult to miss.”  
  
“And just like that, you just decided to play with me?”  Simon finally dropped his eyes to Jeremy’s face.  
  
Jeremy’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his voice hardly more than a low murmur.  “Oh Simon, I hardly think this is the place, but if you insist – “  
  
“Just -  _don’t_ , all right?”  Simon blew out an exasperated breath, pressing the cold bottle to his flaming cheeks.  “Just tell me.”  
  
“I checked in with Annabelle, and that young man  _did_  ask about my mobile.  It is rather ridiculously tiny,” he said, holding up the credit-card sized phone as evidence.  “I - well, I let things get out of hand.  It was silly, and again, I do apologize.”  
  
Simon really wanted to be mad a little longer, because Jeremy didn’t grovel very often, but Simon was finding it harder to keep that glare on his face.  Jeremy really did sound apologetic, leading comment aside.  “Okay, whatever, but  _don’t ever pull that shit again_.”  
  
The hint of a smile grew broader.  “Scout’s honor.”  
  
“Didn’t we already establish that you were never a fucking Boy Scout?”  Simon shook his head and muttered, “Christ, he thought it was  _fun_.”  He started laughing just a little, because it really was kind of funny, or maybe he was a little drunker than he thought.  
  
Jeremy’s smile turned a bit indulgent.  “I certainly hope we’ve cleared that matter up.  I’m ‘off the hook,’ as that quaint American colloquialism goes?”  
  
After a minute and another pull on the beer bottle, Simon tried, but just couldn’t manage to be angry any longer.  He reached up and ruffled Jeremy’s hair.  “Yeah, we’re good.  It’s not your fault you were dropped on your head as a baby.”  
  
Jeremy made a sound that sounded a little like a cough, but could just as easily been a smothered chuckle, and effortlessly shook his hair back into place.  “Well, it appears we’ve established one thing tonight.”  
  
Simon raised an eyebrow expectantly.  “That being?”  
  
“You’ve absolutely no sense of humor.”  
  
To his own surprise, Simon cracked up.  “Nah, I have a great sense of humor.  Want to know why I’m laughing?  That poor guy probably thought  _you_  were gonna top.”  
  
Reaching for his club soda, Jeremy laughed too.  “Did he now?  I’ll have to give that idea some thought.”  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
“Holy shit, I actually know this song,” Simon blurted five minutes later.  He slammed his mostly-empty beer down on the nearest flat surface and grabbed Jeremy’s arm.  “To show you what a forgiving guy I am, I’ll even let you dance with me now.”  
  
Jeremy tugged back.  “I thought we weren’t coming in to dance?” His eyes sparkled with amusement, that little smirk plastered as always to his face.  
  
“Well, I changed my mind.  Seize the day, you know?  Now put your sexy on and get that ass moving before I drag you out there.”  
  
Still smiling, Jeremy shrugged and let himself be towed through the mass of gyrating bodies on the dance floor.  “Fine.  Carpe diem, and all that.”  
  
Simon always said – loudly, and to whoever would listen – that he hated dancing, but if there was one type of dancing Simon  _didn’t_  hate, it was club dancing.  There were no steps to memorize, no worries about stepping on your partner’s feet, no awkward brushes of the hand and stutters of apology if your hand happened brush her tit, or if your hand was resting just a little too low down on her back so she thought you were copping a feel.  Club dancing wasn’t even really like dancing; it was more of a bump and grind, or sex with your clothes on.  It was as simple as closing your eyes to let the music wash into your soul, then just moving your body along with it.  He couldn’t remember how to dance a box step, but he could slut dance like nobody’s business.  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
“Simon, I was wondering about something.”  Jeremy narrowed the space between them, and while the music was blaring and Jeremy wasn’t speaking all that loudly, Simon could nevertheless hear him perfectly over the syncopated beat of the music.  Jeremy’s eyes shone weirdly in the flashing lights.  “Indulge my curiosity, if you will?”  
  
“Am I going to regret answering this?  Yeah, probably, but go ahead.  I’m feeling masochistic tonight.”  
  
“Have you ever -” Jeremy let his question hang unspoken.  
  
“Have I  _what_?”  
  
“Just inquiring, of course, but I was wondering if you had ever  _had_  a, ah, ménage a trois?  Not that it matters a whit one way or the other.”  
  
Simon stopped moving long enough to glower at him.  “ _No_ , I haven’t.  Fucking with an audience really isn’t my thing, and there are too many body parts to keep track of.  And you’re going to have a ménage a  _one_  tonight if you don’t shut your face about it.”  
  
Jeremy laughed and slithered away from him.  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
That song melded into another, which finally segued into one with a steady four-on-the-floor beat overlaid with a funky sort of hypnotic synth groove.  Before the song changed, Simon had planned to stop dancing, because it was God-damned hot out here, and near him someone was wearing a cologne sort of like that hippie dirt-scented patchouli that he hated, but a thousand times stronger, and underneath it was the aroma of perspiration, and it was making him want to sneeze.  
  
He actually reached for Jeremy to pull him off the dance floor, but from the corner of his eye, he saw the same Asian twink dancing by himself a few feet away, watching them curiously.  
  
Simon glared at him, and struck by a fit of malice that he’d blame on alcohol now and claim not to remember tomorrow, Simon instead pulled Jeremy closer.  Really close.  So close that Simon could feel every ripple and contour of Jeremy’s muscles right through their clothing.  
  
“Why  _hello_ , handsome,” Jeremy purred, stepping neatly into the circle of Simon’s arms.  His hands automatically rose under Simon’s arms and wound around his back.  He tilted his head and nipped at Simon’s chin.  
  
“Hi, you,” Simon answered, draping his arms over Jeremy’s shoulders and weirdly unconcerned about their public display.  Probably because nearly everyone around them except the guy who wanted Jeremy’s ass was paying them absolutely no attention.  Surrounded on all sides by grinding, bobbing, swaying people of all genders and persuasions, they were nevertheless almost inconspicuous.  It was a liberating feeling for a guy like Simon, who usually hated public displays of any kind.  “Hey, don’t look now, but I think I caught a someone.  Want to go home with me tonight?”  
  
Simon could feel the pleased, purring rumble from Jeremy’s chest.  “Mm.  I think I accept.”  
  
Instead of coming up with a snappy rejoinder, Simon grabbed Jeremy’s head and pulled him up, latching onto his mouth.  With Simon being five inches taller and wearing boots, this meant Jeremy had to rise up on nearly on his toes to reach, which had a quite pleasant side effect of making him lean into Simon.  Every last inch of firm, strong muscle, sweat-slick and radiating heat like a furnace, jammed against Simon from thigh to chest.  And it was  _awesome_.  
  
Jeremy tasted slightly of spices, foreign tobacco, and lime, not an altogether unpleasant recipe.  Simon’s hands dropped to the curve of Jeremy’s ass and stayed there, kneading and grabbing, pressing him closer, even though it wasn’t even really possible for them to get any closer without being inside each other’s clothes,  _that_  was how close they were.  
  
Simon cracked one eye open and saw the twink watching them closely, taking in the scene.   _Roses are red, violets are blue, too bad this ass doesn’t belong to you_ , he thought nastily.  Behind Jeremy’s back, Simon flipped the one-finger salute and attacked Jeremy’s mouth with renewed vigor.  
  
 _Game, set, and match, fucker._  
  
As the beat continued to pound in that steady 1-2-3-4 pulse, Jeremy was hard against Simon’s leg and quickly getting harder, rubbing his crotch against Simon’s thigh, one of his legs wound almost around Simon’s.  Jeremy was rhythmically pressing against him, his breathing definitely starting to quicken.  Simon’s own breathing was getting a little ragged, too.  It was sort of like fucking, in a way, except not as sticky, and not as naked, and a little bit noisier, and a hell of a lot more crowded.  
  
“Jesus,” Simon croaked, tearing his mouth away and licking his lips.  “I think – I think we need to get the fuck out of here, like right now.”  
  
When Jeremy looked at him, his eyes were glazed and he blinked like he was having trouble focusing.  “Yes, I think that’s probably the best idea you’ve had all day.”  
  
Simon collected their jackets from the bartender, throwing a quick wink over his shoulder in answer to her lewd remark.  On the way out the door and across the sidewalk, he tried to walk normally, but knew he was utterly failing.  In those snug jeans and jacket that just reached his hips, he felt like a giant walking erection.  
  
Glancing at Jeremy, he was viciously glad to note that Jeremy was having the same problem.  “Hate to tell you, homeslice, but that jacket isn’t hiding anything,” he said, trying without success to tug the ends of his own jacket just a little lower.  
  
Having a few troubles of his own, but clearly less self-conscious about it, Jeremy stared directly at Simon’s crotch.  “Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask if that is a weapon in your pants or if you’re just glad to see me?”  
  
“Thank God it’s dark, maybe no one will notice,” Simon said hopefully, shoving his hands in his pockets in a futile attempt to camouflage his raging hard-on, already knowing by the amused look on Jeremy’s face that he was failing entirely.  
  
There was a line of taxis outside the club, all lined up and waiting for the minute the club closed, spewing hundreds of drunk patrons out into the night.  Simon chose one that didn’t look too skanky, and flung the door open and threw himself inside, Jeremy nearly falling on top of him.  Jeremy fired off an address and threw a few small bills over the seat, and as the cabbie shot away from the curb, Jeremy’s head promptly disappeared, dropping down toward his lap to nip at Simon’s cock through his jeans.  
  
Simon made a little growling sound in his throat and smacked ineffectually at Jeremy’s shoulder.  “Christ, will you take it easy for a few minutes and, and maybe  _not do this in public_?”  
  
Jeremy gave one hard little nip and sat up again, giving the front of his own trousers a little adjustment.  “I beg your pardon, I must have been confused between this and what we were nearly doing on the dance floor just now.”  
  
“Well, there’s a difference, you know, between going down on me in front of a stranger in a cab, and the clothed-type fucking on a dance floor, where no one else gives a shit because they’re all doing the same thing.”  
  
“I would hazard a guess that it’s nothing our gentleman driver hasn’t seen before on this particular route, but I do rather see your point.”  
  
The driver, if he heard, made no comment.  Staring straight ahead, he hit the gas and covered the eight blocks back to the hotel in under five minutes.  Jeremy’s hand started out resting on Simon’s thigh and crept higher with each passing block.  Simon closed his eyes and prayed for plenty of green lights.  
  
$ $ $ $ $


	5. Chapter 5

_$ $ $ $ $_  
  
 _Sunday, 1:10am_  
  
Somehow they made it out of the taxi, through the lobby, and into the elevator without someone calling the police and having them arrested for lewd and lascivious behavior.  In fact, they didn’t see a soul the whole way; even the front desk was mercifully deserted.  In public, Jeremy had managed to keep his hands to himself, mostly, but the fact that both of them were having very little luck concealing raging erections would have been enough to get them hauled in for public indecency, at the very least.  
  
 _In_  the elevator was a different story.  Somewhere around the 11th or 12th floors, without really knowing how it happened, Simon found himself backed against the mirrored wall of the elevator, Jeremy’s tongue halfway down his throat and Jeremy’s legs clamped like a vice around his hips.  He didn’t really know exactly how Jeremy had got there, either, except that at some vague point in time he’d had a hazy impression of feet scrabbling up his legs and Jeremy climbing him like a jungle gym.  
  
Taken completely off guard, Simon staggered under Jeremy’s weight.  It was a good thing Jeremy was fairly slight; even so, he was a hell of a lot heavier than his size let on.  Hours spent in the gym had left him spare and trim, with not a spare ounce on him anywhere.  Simon himself could bench press somewhere upwards of a couple hundred pounds, but that was cake compared to maneuvering a wriggling, horny English pain in the ass that just  _didn’t want to stay still_.  
  
He sent a brief but urgent prayer to whatever deity might be listening that no one would get on the elevator with them.  At least they were going up, not down, and it was something like 1:00 in the morning, so chances were better than average they would make it to the top floor without being interrupted.  His prayers were answered, thankfully, and he got down to business of examining Jeremy’s tonsils with his own tongue.  
  
Somehow Simon managed to make it out of the elevator and down the hall to the penthouse without dropping Jeremy, which wasn’t easy at all because his eyes wanted to close while Jeremy sucked his face off, but if he gave in and let them close, he couldn’t see to get to the room.  And Jeremy kept squirming around, grinding his dick into Simon’s stomach and biting at his ears, and most of Jeremy’s weight was pressing Simon’s own dick into his belt buckle, which sort of hurt, but also felt ridiculously, stupendously excellent.  
  
The door unlocked itself somehow, and Simon lurched through it, kicking off his boots into a heap, and staggered across the floor to drop onto one of the couches on his back, Jeremy’s weight heavy on his chest.  
  
Simon gave up trying to disengage Jeremy and made out for a little while, not that he really had a choice in the matter since Jeremy had a hold like a pit bull on his face and his legs around Simon’s waist.  Simon thought that maybe he hadn’t been so goddamned horny in a long time, except he’d already gotten off a couple of times in the last twenty-four hours, so he really  _shouldn’t_  be that horny, but Jeremy just had a way of making him crazy like that.  
  
Somehow, with the last vestige of reason he had left, Simon realized he had to shut this thing down quickly.  With no idea how he did it, he finally gained a modicum of control and eventually got one hand on Archer’s forehead and shoved.  Jeremy mumbled something against his mouth but finally pulled away, making a little sound of frustration.  
  
“Christ, you act like you haven’t been laid in a month.  Get  _up_ , will you?” Simon gasped.  
  
“It  _has_  been a few hours.”  Jeremy’s voice was muffled, his mouth now occupied with nipping bites down Simon’s neck and along his collarbone, leaving little damp mouth-shaped marks on his silk t-shirt.  
  
Simon pushed him away forcibly, but not unkindly.  “ _Enough_ , already.  Jesus, you’re like a frigging nymphomaniac.”  
  
Something warm and rigid jammed against Simon’s hip.  “Oh Simon, are we having trouble with gender confusion again?  I’m disappointed in you.”  
  
“All right, uh,  _satyromaniac_ , then.  You’re too fucking horny for your own good.”  
  
“Your grasp of vocabulary is impressive, Mr. Drake.”  Jeremy nipped sharply at Simon’s ear, ruffling his hair with a breath of gusty laughter.  “And all along, I thought you were simply a handsome face and a burly set of muscles.”  
  
“Yeah, I did go to college, and stop trying to distract me.  Now get up.”  Simon shoved hard at Jeremy’s shoulders.    
  
With a great put-upon sigh, Jeremy finally sat and gave a little shift of his hips to settle things inside his pants, which had an agreeable side effect of grinding his ass into Simon’s already hard dick.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Simon groaned, Jeremy’s little squirm setting off an entire toe-to-shoulders body shiver.  “Okay, listen up.  This is what’s going to happen – Jesus _Christ_  stop doing that,” he exploded as Jeremy did another little shift-and-shimmy.  “ -  _I’m_  going to count to three.  Not one, and four is right out.”  He’d mangled that quote, but couldn’t really spare the blood flow to the brain to think of the exact wording.  “Then  _you’re_  going to decide whether I’m going to fuck you right here on this couch – and don’t think that isn’t sounding like a good idea right about now – or whether you’re going to get off me like a good boy and go in the bedroom so I can blow you like I promised.  Your choice.   _One_.”  
  
“God, Simon,” Jeremy said, laughing a little as he leaned back and stretched his arms over his head, pretending to weigh his options.  “How can I possibly choose from two such equally appealing choices?”  
  
“Tick tock, my cock’s ticking.   _Two_.”  
  
“Oh, the latter, I think.”  Jeremy said, deftly untangling himself and rising sinuously to his feet in one seemingly effortless motion.   “You are quite proficient, when you put your mind to it.”  
  
Simon made no move to get up.  Lying on the couch because he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him quite yet, he scrubbed a hand over his face.  A bit of stubble rasped against his palm.  “Go shave your ass or something, just get out of my face.  I’m going to stay out here and  _breathe_  for a minute, and don’t you dare come out here or – or – “ he fumbled to a stop, having completely lost the momentum of his own argument.  
  
“- or what?” Jeremy asked, amused and clearly baiting him.  
  
“Or, uh, you’re going to regret it?” Simon faltered, lacking any real incentive.  He’d end up getting laid, either way.  
  
Jeremy looked at him steadily, his eyebrow raised.  “Simon,” he said, suddenly gone solemn.  “There is one thing that I do not, and have not ever done, and that is to  _regret it_.”  
  
Heat rose to Simon’s face.  “Arg, just  _go_ ,” he grumbled.  
  
The moment passed as quickly as it had come, thankfully.  Sauntering in that lithe snake-hipped way of his, Jeremy disappeared into the bedroom, leaving only his leather jacket and a peal of laughter behind.  
  
With Jeremy safely out of reach for the moment, Simon managed to heave himself off the couch and stagger to the kitchen.  He nearly collapsed across the counter, resting his forehead on the cool marble surface.  From the bedroom there were a few little thumps, and he could just barely hear the sound of Jeremy whistling, the exact tune muffled by miles of thick carpeting.  Simon chuckled feebly, wondering just what it was Jeremy was doing in there.  “Christ, he’s going to kill me one of these days,” he mumbled against the counter, drawing a few shaky breaths.   “But what a fucking way to go, huh?”  
  
He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and emptied one in a series of long gulps.  He cracked the seal on the second and took a swig out of that one too, then replaced the cap and carried it through the bedroom, determinedly keeping his eyes averted from the bed, and went into the bathroom for a quick splash of water on his face, and to grab a hand towel on the way out.  Always be prepared, right?  
  
There was one damned nice view in the bedroom, since Jeremy was naked and lounging on the bed, elegant as a cat.  He was fully hard, a hand wrapped loosely around his cock, not really stroking, just sort of keeping the interest.  “Well, there you are,” he said with just a hint of teasing in his voice. “I feared I might have to begin without you.”  
  
That idea definitely had some merit, but - “Yeah, while I’ve developed a deep appreciation for watching you jerk off, I’m also not going to waste a perfectly good hard-on.”  From the look of it, Jeremy’s was one worthy of respect.  
  
  
“Here, think fast,” he added, dropping the towel on the bedside table and simultaneously tossing the water bottle in the direction of the bed.  Lightning quick, Jeremy snagged it out of the air before it had even begun its descending arc and drank about half the bottle while Simon watched his throat work.  Screwing the cover back on, he abandoned the bottle on the table and resumed his leisurely exploration while watching Simon undress.  
  
Simon unbuckled his belt and pulled off first his shirt, then his jeans, at the last minute remembering the condoms and lube he’d got at the club, and tore them out of his pocket; he slapped them down on the bureau within easy reach.  
  
Jeremy, following Simon’s actions with interest, looked, and the horrified expression on his face was priceless.  Jesus, Simon wished he’d had a camera.  “ _Colors_?  Dear God, Simon, I sincerely hope you’re not coming anywhere near me with that yellow one.  I do have  _some_  self respect.”  
  
“Yeah, you’ll get what you get and you’ll like it.”  For safety’s sake, to keep Jeremy from temptation, he left his underwear on.  Not that a little bit of navy blue cotton would deter Jeremy, anyway, but it was the principle of the thing.  
  
“You’ve never disappointed me yet, but –  _yellow_?” Jeremy shuddered.  “You’ll look jaundiced.”  
  
“I can say from abundant past experience that when it’s up your ass, you won’t care about the color.”  
  
“Crudely put, but I expect you’re right.  Still,  _yellow_.  Urgh.”  
  
“Yeah, it’ll be our dirty little secret,” Simon said from the foot of the bed, no longer really paying attention to the conversation.  He looked at the bed, and looked at Jeremy, and rubbed a hand absently over his stomach, then shook his head.  “Shit, that’s not going to work.  You’re not tall enough, Mighty Mite.”  He glanced around and took a few steps to the side, over toward the wall, and made a little come-here motion with his hand.  “Hey, stop playing with yourself and get over here.”  
  
Jeremy pushed himself up and knee walked to the center of the bed, looking less silly than he should have considering what was bobbing in front of him, and crossed the floor to Simon.  He stood, entirely relaxed and waiting for instructions, looking far more at ease than Simon felt.  Simon wasn’t  _nervous_ ; it wasn’t like sucking dick was a novelty or anything, but it was usually more of an impulsive thing when the mood struck and not almost scripted like he was directing a porn movie and needed to  _think_  about things instead of just doing them.  
  
What the hell, standing here wasn’t going to get them anywhere.  None too gently, Simon grabbed the back of Jeremy’s head with one hand and mashed their mouths together, shoving him back against the wall.  He kicked Jeremy’s feet about a shoulder’s width apart and tore his mouth away long enough to order, “Don’t move.”  
  
Following orders remarkably well, Jeremy’s only movement was his eyes, gleaming in the too-bright light as he watched Simon.  Simon was impressed; in his experience Jeremy only did “obedient” when it was directly and immediately to his benefit.  
  
Dropping to his knees, Simon folded the length of his legs under him and sort of squatted on his thighs, shifting around a little until his face was roughly even with Jeremy’s crotch.  Jeremy’s dick rose and fell minutely with each breath he took, hovering just inches from Simon’s lips.  Oh yeah, that was just about right.  Risking one glance above him, he saw Jeremy’s eyes following his every move, his pupils so hugely dilated the chocolate brown iris was only a pale ring around them.  His lips just barely curved into a smile.  Simon couldn’t help but grin back at him.  
  
Not one for subtlety, Simon got right down to business.  One hand gripped Jeremy’s thigh for balance; the other hand circled loosely around Jeremy’s cock, pushing it gently out of the way.   He nosed around Jeremy’s balls, re-acclimating himself to Jeremy’s smell and taste.  After a night of dancing, he smelled earthy and untamed, just a hint of fancy English soap lingering underneath it all, just to make things interesting.  Simon was really glad he hadn’t done more than a cursory clean-up, because that scent was really a turn-on.  
  
The faded star of an old bullet scar bloomed in his vision, low down on Jeremy’s stomach.  Seeing it now didn’t give Simon the guilts like it used to.  He licked a slow circle around it and dipped his tongue briefly in the tiny indentation in the center.  Jeremy’s breath hitched and evened again.  
  
Jeremy’s cock nudged his cheek, and Simon, taking the hint, shifted his grip, opened his mouth wide, and went straight to it.  Jeremy sort of sighed a little and thrust forward to meet him, and that encouraged Simon to continue.  
  
Simon sucked hard for a few strokes, alternating with long, sloppy licks up and down like he was savoring an ice cream cone.  This wasn’t as sweet, but it was the best damned  _not_ -ice cream he’d ever licked, can I get a  _hell yeah_.  
  
It was good, it was  _playful_ , if sucking cock could properly be called  _fun_ , but Simon thought Jeremy might appreciate a little more, greedy little bottom that he was.  One of Simon’s hands was full of Jeremy, and his face was also occupied so he couldn’t turn to look, but reached blindly for the bedside table with his free hand, slapping across the surface and coming up empty.  Jeremy shifted and Simon had no choice but to move with him, unless he wanted to let go, and that just wasn’t going to happen.  Suddenly there was Jeremy’s hand, pressing one of the little tubes of lube into his fingers, just as smoothly as if he’d read Simon’s mind.  Simon grunted a little, meaning  _thanks_ , and Jeremy’s acknowledgement was a gusty, chuckled, “Y _ou’re welcome”_  from somewhere above Simon’s head.  
  
It was awkward to manage one-handed, but somehow Simon maneuvered the little tube until he was able to snap off the plastic cap and squeezed it empty, until his cupped fingers held a little slippery pool.  He dropped the tube on the floor, halfway hoping he’d remember to pick it up before someone stepped on it, and brought his fingers together and up between Jeremy’s widespread thighs.  
  
Fingers nice and slick, he stroked lightly over Jeremy, right  _there_ , not really going inside, just sort of rubbing and teasing a little.  Jeremy’s thighs spread a little wider to accommodate him, his breath quickening.  
  
With no warning, he shoved two fingers in, straight up to the second knuckle.  Jeremy made a strangled  _ngg_  sound, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.  From the corner of Simon’s eye, he saw Jeremy’s knuckles go white and heard a strangled groan.  He pulled out and plunged back in, adding a little twisting motion to his fingers, then did it again.  
  
A few inches away from Simon’s nose, Jeremy’s stomach muscles twitched.   Simon was so fascinated by this that he stopped what he was doing, except for his hand working slowly in and out, the cause of that amazing little spasm.  He was almost cross-eyed watching it – he plunged in, and Jeremy’s stomach tightened hard and ridged as a washboard; he pulled out, and it went smooth again.  
  
Before he could really study this remarkable phenomenon, Jeremy’s hand darted out and smacked lightly on the side of Simon’s head.  Simon got this hint, too, and started paying attention again.  Jeremy made a relieved  _ahhhh_  sound and threaded his fingers through Simon’s hair.  
  
Simon didn’t especially rush, keep things fairly slow and steady, even on the hard pulls that hollowed his cheeks and took Jeremy in to the back of his throat.  Jeremy’s hands rested on his shoulders, his fingers occasionally digging into the muscle when Simon did something he especially enjoyed, like taking him  _aaaaaalllll_  the way into his throat and  _aaaaaalllll_ the way out again, adding a little lick across the tip and a little curl of his fingers.  Jeremy seemed to be getting off on it so far, each of his own thrusts perfectly in synch with each of Simon’s changes in pace or pressure.  
  
The  _ahhhh_  changed, taking on a more strident tone as Simon picked up the pace, really shoving his fingers in and slurping up and down Jeremy’s cock.  Jeremy’s stomach and thigh muscles were twitching, and a metallic taste in the back of Simon’s mouth told him Jeremy was close – really close.  
  
How long could Simon draw it out before Jeremy started fussing?  He decided to find out.  
  
Not long at all, Simon discovered a few seconds later.  
  
 _“Aah_.”  Jeremy tugged on Simon’s hair. 

In the heat of it, there wasn’t usually much talk during the act itself; their exchanges were typically limited to things like  _aah_  (Jeremy) and  _nng_  (also Jeremy) and _harder faster more_  (either) and _fuck, yeah_  (Simon) and some growling (usually Simon, but occasionally Jeremy depending on the urgency and who was closer to coming). The tug on Simon’s hair meant, obviously, in Jeremy’s unspoken sex dialogue:   _Simon, if it’s not too much trouble, I rather think it best if you would stop now, and thanks ever so._

  
Simon ignored the warning.   _Needs must, Archer.  You’ve got the need, so I must,_ he thought, stifling a giggle.  
  
“ _Simon._ ”  Jeremy hissed his name, turning the word into something filthy, and yanked two handfuls of Simon’s hair so hard it made his eyes water.  
  
Okay, that message was pretty clear.   _Goddamn, Archer, that hurt,_  he wanted to say, but his mouth was full of Jeremy, so it came out more like a hummed  _Mmmmnnnnggggmmmm_.  That was definitely the wrong thing to do, because Jeremy made one more choked little  _aaah_  sound and the hold in his hair redoubled, and trying say  _Jesus fuck let go that hurts_ wasn’t working either and Simon had to do something to get Jeremy to understand that yeah, he knew what Jeremy was trying to tell him but he wasn’t going to stop and _Christ, just let go and let me get on with it_.  
  
The trouble was, Simon’s left hand was trapped between his own mouth and the hard muscle of Jeremy’s stomach, and that was a really great place for it to be.  The other had a couple fingers clamped in Jeremy’s ass, and that was an even better place for  _that_  hand to be.  Short of pulling his hand free, which would kind of ruin the moment, he did the only thing he could do to make his point clear, and that was to take hold of Jeremy’s ass cheek between his thumb and the two fingers that weren’t diddling around and squeezing as hard as he could.  
  
Jeremy choked off a yelp and didn’t let go, exactly, but his death grip on Simon’s hair eased enough so Simon’s eyes stopped watering and he stopped fearing he was going to come out of this with a pair of matching bald patches on his scalp.  
  
What Jeremy  _did_  do was clamp his hands on either side of Simon’s head and slam forward into Simon’s mouth so hard his cock rammed the back of Simon’s throat.  He strained for a second or so, then pulled back again and shoved forward once more, making a couple more of those  _uhh, uhh_  sounds.  He bucked a couple more times, and finally did what Simon had set out to do from the beginning.  
  
Simon was expecting it and gave a couple more hard pulls, then slowed and eased Jeremy though the last few tremors.  Jeremy gave one last little shudder and finally sagged against the wall, his head falling back against the wall with a little _thunk_.  
  
Grimacing and trying not to gag, Simon reached around blindly for the towel with his left hand – the right one was comfortable right where it was – and as discreetly as he could, spit out the results of his efforts.  He’d never been comfortable swallowing, unfortunately.  Slumped against the wall and breathing hard, Jeremy either didn’t notice, dazed into post-orgasmic stupor, or was unfailingly polite enough not to mention it.  
  
Simon wiped his mouth and rested his cheek against Jeremy’s heaving stomach, trying to catch his breath.  
  
Jeremy broke the silence a minute later.  “That –“ His hand, still wound in Simon’s hair and trembling slightly, gave another little tug, but this time it was a lot more gentle, almost a caress.  “That meant  _stop_.”  
  
“Y- yeah.”  Simon’s voice wouldn’t work at first, scratchy as it was from his exertions.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  “I got that.  And  _that_  –“ Simon squeezed lightly with his right hand, “- meant  _no_.”  
  
“I suppose I should be grateful you don’t follow directions well.”  A weary chuckle came from above Simon’s head.  “You may have your hand back, if you’d like.  I think I need to lie down before my legs give out.”  
  
Simon pulled out with a little difficulty when Jeremy clamped down on his fingers, perhaps involuntarily, or maybe just because he  _wanted to_ , and quickly cleaned his fingers, giving Jeremy a bit of a wipedown with the other end of the towel.  
  
The touch of Jeremy’s fingers under his chin came as a surprise.  Those dexterous fingers tilted his head up, Jeremy leaning down toward him.  
  
Simon reflexively turned his head away because of – well, because of where his mouth had just  _been_ , but Jeremy’s fingers were gentle but insistent, forcing Simon’s face up.  “I’m not entirely unfamiliar with the taste, you know,” he chided gently and kissed Simon’s lips, lingering for a few seconds to run his tongue over one corner of Simon’s mouth.  “That was -  _magnificent_ , Simon.  Thank you.”  
  
The tips of Simon’s ears burned.  “Yeah, um, I guess I’m supposed to say you’re welcome.  And also,  _ouch,_ I might need a hair transplant now from where you, I don’t know, almost scalped me?”  
  
Laughing softly to himself, Jeremy walked, staggering only slightly, to the bed and flopped – as gracefully as Jeremy ever could flop – down onto his side, giving a big sigh of contentment.  
  
Simon grabbed the water bottle and took a big mouthful, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing, then picked up the towel and the discarded tube.  Turning toward the bed to toss the empty tube in the trash, he incidentally gave Jeremy a good eyeful of what was tenting out the front of his underwear.  
  
“My goodness, Simon, do be careful.  You could seriously injure someone with that,” Jeremy said lazily, sounding unconcerned as he lounged on the bed, stretching so all the long muscles of his body got nice and tight.  
  
Simon watched the view with interest for a second or so, then shook himself out of it.  “I haven’t managed to break you yet, and Christ knows I’ve tried, but the way it feels right now it’s in danger of, I don’t know _, thermonuclear explosion_  or something.  You’d better be hard again in, uh, five minutes, or it’s going in you whether you’re ready or not.”  
  
“Pfft,” Jeremy scoffed with a crooked smile.  “Five minutes certainly won’t be a problem.  I’m not  _that_  old quite yet.”  
  
Simon rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling a little, too.  “You are one giant walking, talking hard-on, boy.  No, wait – I take that back.  You’re kinda puny, so make that a little tiny pocket-size hard-on.”  
  
“I think my manhood has just been insulted,” Jeremy laughed.  
  
“Yeah,” Simon paused meaningfully.  “Of course, that would presume you had one to begin with.”  
  
“It’s been enough to put up with you all this time,” Jeremy called as Simon made a jelly-legged escape to the bathroom to clean off his hand and wipe up his face.  Jesus, he was a mess, and he hadn’t even got properly laid yet.  Simon was of the opinion that sex was even better than beer, but Christ, why was it so  _messy_?  
  
$ $ $ $ $


	6. Chapter 6

$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Sunday, 1:46am_  
  
When Simon came out of the bathroom, Jeremy had rolled to his stomach and was stretched out on the bed looking completely relaxed, his chin propped on his crossed forearms and his feet swaying in the air above the pillows.  
  
Simon gave him a long, appraising look.  The marks from his own thumb and fingers were clearly imprinted on the lower curve of Jeremy’s buttock, just waiting to make a hell of a bruise later.  He sort of thought maybe he should feel a little guilty about it, but Jeremy hadn’t seemed to mind.  Kind of got off on it, Simon thought, and filed that little tidbit away for future use.  Heavy stuff was way out of the question, but a little slap-and-tickle might be fun someday.  
  
He stripped off his underwear, giving a little sigh of relief as his long-ignored cock popped free.  Jeremy’s head quirked to the side and he smirked.  “Feeling better?”  
  
“Hell yeah, and shut up,” Simon said, climbing up on the bed.  He dropped on top of Jeremy a little harder than necessary, ignoring Jeremy’s breathless  _oomph_  as Simon’s full weight settled onto his back.  Simon’s cock, so hard it was almost painful, aligned itself along the crack of Jeremy’s ass, gliding smoothly along the lube-slick cleft.  He nuzzled into the crease of Jeremy’s neck, and Jeremy obediently tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes while Simon laid a string of teasing little nibbles from the top of his shoulder to the little indentation just behind his ear.  
  
“ _Mmm_ , that’s nice,” Jeremy sighed, craning his head to give Simon more room to explore, bringing one hand up behind him to press lightly against the side of Simon’s face.  Against his cheek, Jeremy’s facial muscles tightened into a smile.  “Do you know, I think a bit of a cuddle before sleep would be lovely.”  
  
Simon latched onto a mouthful of salty, sweaty Jeremy skin and bit down, not hard enough to draw blood, but definitely enough to leave a mark and pull a slight whine from Jeremy’s throat.  “Yeah, I don’t  _think so_.  It’s my turn now.”  Simon’s voice was low and hoarse, almost unrecognizable to his own ears.  “You almost ready?  ‘Cause I’m about to blow.”  
  
“Simon, have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”  Jeremy’s voice vibrated pleasantly against Simon’s chest.  “Ready, willing, and able, I’m your man.”  
  
Yeah, wasn’t that the truth.  “Well all right, let’s go then,” Simon said, peeling himself off Jeremy’s back, hearing and ignoring the grumble of protest.  
  
He flipped around and shoved a pillow against the headboard, then leaned back against it, the king of his domain, his long legs outstretched almost to the end of the bed.  “Get the lead out, sunshine.  Come on up here, I want to watch, ‘cause you know that gets me all hot and stuff.”  
  
Gracefully, Jeremy rolled to his side and pushed himself up, knee-walking forward to straddle Simon’s thighs.  “That’s one more thing I like about you, Simon.  Your refreshing ability to speak just what is on your mind.”  
  
Simon, glancing down, rolled his eyes.  It had been less than five minutes – maybe three at the most, and Jeremy’s dick was already flying at about half mast.  Simon was no slacker in the refractory period, either, but seriously, Jeremy was ready pretty much any time, any place.  It was pretty convenient, actually, except when it  _wasn’t_.  Like when Jeremy tried to maul him in taxis, or alleyways, or airplane bathrooms, or  _air-conditioning ducts_.  Although that one had turned out well enough in the end, all things considered.  
  
“Yeah, if you’re not careful, you might just find, uh, maybe three things about me you really like.”  Flapping his hand, Simon waved in the direction of the table beside the bed.  Jeremy would know what he meant.  
  
“Oh, now Simon, that’s just not fair!” Jeremy protested, leaning to the side.  “How can I possibly limit myself to  _three_?”  His affected look of indignation made Simon choke back a snort of laughter.  “Here now, I’m curious.  You tell me what you believe is on my list, and then we’ll compare.”  A condom – yellow, Simon noticed – and a tiny tube vanished into his hand.  
  
Straightening, Jeremy pressed the tube into Simon’s hand and tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth.  Practiced hands rolled it on Simon’s aching cock, giving it a blessedly relieving squeeze or two while Jeremy leaned in and ran the flat of his tongue along the underside of Simon’s jaw.  
  
Simon groaned deep in his throat.  “Um… my face, my dick, and, um, the fact that I’m hung like a walrus.  You’re superficial like that.  So, that’s three…”  
  
Jeremy chuckled, his hand slowly working up and down the length of Simon’s cock, the latex of the condom scudding across his palm and adding just the right amount of resistance.  “Well yes, there is that.  But really, the last two are in principle very nearly the same.  So let’s say the third is your incandescent personality - ”  
  
“- yeah, that too, and Jesus God, I am  _so fucking horny_ , quit flapping your gums and lift up,” Simon broke in, exasperated, trying to nudge his dick harder into Jeremy’s hand.  
  
Jeremy’s eyes flashed.  “Oh, really, I’m fine right where I am, thank you.”  
  
Simon sniffed the air.  “Is that brimstone I smell?  Oh yeah, I kind of forgot for a minute that you’re  _Satan_.”  
  
Jeremy made a little grimace like he was either trying not to laugh or was getting a migraine.  Simon decided it was the former, and gave him a little encouraging nudge to get things moving.  Jeremy did, finally, bracing himself one-handed against Simon’s chest, the lazy half-smile still on his face.  
  
Simon flipped open the lube and got to work.  It was really easy this time, and he didn’t need much after that little escapade up against the wall.  
  
“Mmm,” Jeremy said, his eyelids fluttering closed just for a second.  
  
Simon’s fingers slipped free and he gripped their cocks together, slicking a bit of extra lube from his hand over the length of him, and gave them both a couple nice firm squeezes.  Jeremy wasn’t completely hard yet, but pretty close to it.  “Okay, get moving before I bust a nut,” he said, letting go and settling back into the pillows.  
  
“Tsk, we can’t have that now, can we?”  Jeremy shifted forward and raised himself up on his thighs, one hand gripping Simon’s shoulder for support while he leaned back slightly.  This shift in position angled him back and away, so Simon could look down between them, over his stomach and under Jeremy’s splayed thighs, and clearly see the jaunty poke of his own dick and the curve of Jeremy’s butt hovering a mere inch or so away.  So close, but not close enough to _get the damn job done_.  
  
Two of his own fingers at the base of his cock (intently not obstructing the view), Simon held himself steady while Jeremy cupped his balls up and out of the way, and lowered himself with maddening lack of haste down onto Simon’s lap.  
  
“Fucking  _Christ_.”  Simon choked out, wanting to close his eyes to better appreciate the tight, blistering squeeze, but completely unable to tear his eyes away from every single inch of him slowly sliding into Jeremy.  Even with his dick sheathed in that ridiculous yellow latex glove, the sight was hot.  Hell no, it was  _scorching_.  
  
“ _Nnn_ ,” Jeremy hissed between his teeth, rocking back and forth to work every inch of Simon into him.  
  
“Yeah,” Simon croaked in agreement.  “ _Nnn_.”  
  
When the backs of Jeremy’s thighs finally met Simon’s hips, Jeremy made a noise deep in his chest, not a purr or a growl, exactly, but something in between, and started a slow roll of his hips.  
  
Despite Simon’s earlier demand about haste, he didn’t squawk that much about the lack of it right now, just letting Jeremy do his thing, building the rhythm nice and slow.  The lazy tempo actually helped to take a little of Simon’s edge off, reduce some of the urgency, like finally being able to scratch an itch that’s been driving you crazy for hours.  The itch didn’t go away, but it felt so damned good when you were able to finally get your fingers on it and rub that you just wanted to savor the feeling for a while.  Except that scratching felt good, but this was great, this was exponentially a  _zillion times_ better than great.  
  
Even so soon, it wouldn’t have taken a whole hell of a lot to tip Simon over the edge, considering he’d been sprouting wood for the better part of an hour, but he was willing to let Jeremy have his little bit of fun first and really work himself up, because it was so fucking  _explosive_  when he did.  
  
When Jeremy reached between them, Simon made an objecting little  _grrr_  caveman sound and batted his hand away, his own hand closing around Jeremy’s cock instead.  “ _Mine_.”  
  
Jeremy smiled, although the smile looked a little unsteady and his words definitely had a breathless catch to them.  “I do so enjoy it when you’re cantankerous.”  
  
“Tell me, Archer, is there  _one single thing_  you can do without yakking about it ad nauseum?  I’d really, really like to get off sometime before next century,” Simon grunted, giving Jeremy an ominous squeeze.  
  
Jeremy’s breath hitched again.  “Terribly sorry,” he wheezed, but he started moving a little faster, levering himself up and down using the muscles of his thighs to support himself.  
  
With Jeremy grinding around, up and down like that, Simon was finding it more and more difficult to keep his orgasm at bay for just a little longer, because it just felt too good to let it end.  He was kind of surprised and proud, in a detached sort of not-really-thinking-about-it way, that he hadn’t come already and working himself around to an encore.  
  
What was left of the lube made his hand nice and slippery as he stroked up and down Jeremy’s cock, adding a little twist on the way up and a bit of a squeeze when he hit bottom.  His other hand had developed an attention problem, flitting all over Jeremy’s body, squeezed a thigh here, pinched a nipple there, sneaking behind Jeremy’s hips and added a bit extra to the proceedings  _way_  down there.  This last triggered a shiver through Jeremy’s entire body and he clamped down on Simon’s pulsing cock so hard Simon had one half-second of alarm that he’d tear it off at the root.  While in a perverse way it felt  _hell yeah_  good, Simon was partial to the idea of keeping that part of his body attached, and decided to move his hand to the safety of the back of Jeremy’s neck, where he could pull Jeremy’s face toward him and attack his lips in some frantic half-kiss where their lips met only every fraction of a second or so while Jeremy was somewhere in the middle of one of those crazy, mindblowing lunges.  
  
That frenetic pace steadily increased, and so did Jeremy’s breathing.  He’d finally lost any semblance of his usual grace, none of his usual athleticism and elegance in evidence as he slammed with his full body weight into Simon’s lap.   _That_ was the moment Simon strove for, when Jeremy lost all control, forgetting all that contrived upper-crust refinement and just went with it.  
  
Jeremy wasn’t going to last much longer, even though he was one orgasm ahead and closing in fast on his second; Simon was thoroughly acquainted with the flush that crept up Jeremy’s chest and the puffed little  _ngg nng_  growly sounds he made when he was really worked up.  Simon called Jeremy  _pussy_  and  _wuss_  and  _effeminate_ , but damned if the guy wasn’t a scrappy little control freak in bed.  Simon usually had no choice but hold on for dear life and enjoy the ride.  And damn, he  _did_ enjoy it; he’d self-actualized enough in two years to admit they were  _good_  together, when they weren’t snarking or when Jeremy was being an annoying little smirky shit.  And even then, they weren’t all that bad.  
  
Simon shuddered, bucking up into Jeremy, who was still hammering down onto him with the force of an earthquake.  Every thrust shook the bed and slammed the headboard against the wall (thank God for penthouses, Simon thought without really thinking, because his body was only responding  _nnngggg grrrrr_ ).  His mind went outside itself, leaving him aware of nothing more than pure sensation – the slip and slide of Jeremy’s heaving chest, the hard knot of his own fist between them and working Jeremy’s dick, mind-blowing pressure around his own, that familiar not-quite-an-ache low in his belly.  Jeremy’s arms were cords of steel clamped around his ribs, his hands supporting his weight against the headboard.  Ripsaw panting breaths made little  _uh-uh_  sounds each time Jeremy slammed back down and took Simon deep.  
  
Orgasm was imminent; Simon had been holding it back as long as he could, but it still hit him with blinding force.  He shouted out, dimly hearing himself from outside his body, and came so hard white spots danced in his vision, his eyes clamped so tightly shut that pain lanced his brain when he opened them a minute or so later and came back to himself to find his hand on Jeremy’s cock still somehow miraculously working and Jeremy reaching the apex of one of those crazy-wild lunges and slamming himself back down.  
  
Simon’s come, and it was  _awesome_ , better than awesome, but he was still hard - couldn’t even start to soften with Jeremy riding him like that.  And that was a very good thing.  Sweat slicked their bellies and a drop of perspiration rolled down Simon’s face, hanging off his chin; he couldn’t take his hand away from Jeremy’s cock to brush it away, not now, not with Jeremy so close, and that look of utter concentration on his face was one of the most mesmerizing visions Simon had ever seen.  
  
“Yeah,  _do_  it, come  _on_ , yeah,” Simon whispered, spellbound by the sight, not even realizing he was almost chanting the words in some sort of weird mantra.  
  
Jeremy’s eyelids fluttered open and his eyes met Simon’s.  His lips formed a single word –  _Simon –_ but the sound was never uttered.  In the space of a half heartbeat, every muscle in Jeremy’s body bunched, his mouth fell open, sucking breath like he was drowning, and he threw his head back, a great gasping sound tearing its way out of his throat.  He held his breath for a second, jammed down one more time until Simon halfway worried that he was going to perforate Jeremy’s intestines, then his back bowed and he came over Simon’s pumping fist, making that low, throaty growly purr Simon knew as well as the sound of his own voice.  
  
“ _Wow_ ,” Simon said, because that was all he really  _could_  say after a performance like that.  
  
Jeremy made one more whole-body shudder and then let out a long, slow breath, finally collapsing against Simon’s chest and smearing the mess between their stomachs.  Simon grimaced a little, but wrapped his arms around Jeremy’s shoulders, one hand idly tracing a soothing path up and down the ridges of Jeremy’s spine until his ragged breathing evened and slowed.  
  
“Okay, um,  _gross_.”  Simon broke the contented silence a minute later.  “Sorta sticky here, you know, and I think maybe I’d better get this thing off me before it falls off.”  
  
Jeremy lifted up, a flare of discomfort flitting briefly across his face, and Simon did the ‘pulling out and disposing of the condom’ thing that was absolutely, without a doubt the only unpleasant part of sex.  Somehow without unseating Jeremy, he stretched his arm over the edge of the bed and caught the corner of the towel between two fingers, and gave both of them a perfunctory cleanup, tossing the towel back on the floor.  Housekeeping was going to have a  _hell_  of a time with the linens in this room.  
  
Somehow he got a hand between them and pushed backwards, sending Jeremy turtling over onto his back with a gusty exhaled  _whoof_ , and Simon followed him over, working his own legs to either side of Jeremy’s hips, trapping Jeremy like a cage.  
  
“Was I right, or was I right?  You didn’t care about the color, did you?” he said faintly against Jeremy’s mouth.  
  
“Right again, as usual,” Jeremy murmured, kissing Simon back for a moment, then he slid neatly from underneath Simon and rolled to his side.  Simon went over with him and kept on going until he was lying on his back, and opened his arms for Jeremy to slip into.  Jeremy did, his head resting on Simon’s chest, and curled his leg around Simon’s.  
  
Simon drew in a breath and let it out in one long, steady stream.  “You know, I think that one might have just been worth a prize or something.”  
  
“Mmm?”  Jeremy’s fingers lazily combed through the little spray of hair just below Simon’s belly button.  He glanced up along Simon’s chest, that little bemused smile firmly back on his face.  “What’s that?”  
  
Simon glanced down over his chest and met Jeremy’s eyes.  “You know, the ‘Fucking A, that was the best one yet’ prize, with a gold statue and award and everything, because, you know, it sort of  _was_.”  
  
Jeremy laughed.  “That  _was_  rather impressive.  Spectacular, even, though far be it from me to brag.”  
  
The sound of Jeremy’s laughter made Simon laugh, and the motion did very exciting things to their bodies, and after a while, things started all over again.  
  
$ $ $ $ $


	7. Chapter 7

$ $ $ $ $  
  
 _Sunday 12:49pm_  
  
In the hired car on the drive from the hotel, Jeremy’s hand, by force of long habit, began the trip resting on Simon’s thigh.  There was nothing seductive about it; they were both too drained for the gesture to be anything but comfortable.  It was just  _familiar_.  
  
As they came closer to the airport, Simon’s hand gravitated toward Jeremy’s, and now his hand lay on his own thigh too, large and pale against Jeremy’s tan, their fingers lightly twisted together.  
  
 Simon was completely used up, aching in every part of his body, almost hung over with the bone-deep exhaustion that went along with two solid days of walking, dancing, really great sex, and not enough sleep.  Even yesterday’s nap hadn’t been enough to ward off the continual buzzing of fatigue in his brain.  A little knot under his breastbone ached; Simon told himself it was just his breakfast not sitting right.  
  
The car pulled up to the curb at LaGuardia.  Jeremy extricated his hand from Simon’s and leaned over the front seat to lightly touch the driver’s shoulder.  “Tony, if you could get Mr. Moorhead’s bag, he’ll be along in a few moments,” he said as cheerfully as usual, only the shadows under his eyes giving any indication he was as tired as Simon.  
  
“Sure thing, Mr. Townshend.  Take your time,” Tony answered, putting the car into park and flipping on the flashers.  Leaving the car idling, he stepped out, closing the door behind him, leaving Simon and Jeremy in privacy behind the dark tinted windows.  A moment later, the trunk opened and closed again with a solid thud.  
  
“You okay?” Simon asked as Jeremy gingerly settled back into his seat.  
  
“Right as rain,” Jeremy said lightly, waving away Simon’s concern.  “Nothing that a day of limited physical activity won’t put to rights, anyhow.  I’m just very glad I had the foresight to use the exercise room on Friday before you arrived.”  He tapped his temple with his forefinger, a gesture that Simon had always thought of as pretentious, but when Jeremy did it, it looked somehow completely natural and unaffected.  It was just one of those  _Jeremy_  things that he’d come to know.  
  
Simon feebly smacked at Jeremy’s hand.  “Oh, I’m sorry – no, wait, I’m not.  It’s your own fault, you know, for  _mauling_ me all weekend, so quit your bitching.”  
  
“I seem to recall differently, so we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.”  Jeremy’s smile was a little on the self-righteous side, Simon thought.  
  
“So no, really, you  _did_  maul me all weekend, not that I’m complaining.  So bite me.”  
  
Jeremy’s chuckle sounded as weary as Simon felt.  “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take a rain check on that one.  As impossible as it might sound, I believe you’ve finally succeeded in wearing me out.”  
  
Simon made a desultory attempt at a laugh.  “You know what, I don’t think I could get it up right now even if you stripped off your clothes and did a lap dance, so yeah, a rain check’ll be fine.  It’ll give me something to think about on my next stakeout, when I’m so bored I want to claw my eyes out.”  
  
His fingers played along the seam on his jeans, because he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.  The real goodbye had been said earlier, in bed, slowly, both of them savoring it because it had to last until the next time, whenever their schedules could manage it.   These last-minute goodbyes really sucked.  
  
Glancing sideways at Jeremy, his gaze was drawn to the oval purpled bruise peeking out from the neck of Jeremy’s t-shirt, and almost without realizing it, his hand rose from his leg to hover between them, one finger reaching out to lightly trace the mark.  “Uh, sorry about that.  Your guys tomorrow might wonder what’s up.”  
  
All Simon’s own marks – and there were many – were hidden under clothing, safe from even Sandra’s scrutiny.  Some were safe even from  _Simon’s_  scrutiny – on his back, his ass, his neck… all places he couldn’t see without a mirror and some contortion, so he didn’t worry about them.  
  
“I suppose a quick nap and then to find a druggist for a bit of concealer might be the order for the afternoon,” Jeremy smiled.  “Don’t worry about it.  You’ve done far worse.”  His eyes crinkled at the corners.  
  
That remark earned a real chuckle from Simon.  “Yeah, I guess I have - oh  _hey_ ,” he said abruptly, his hand dropping back to his lap.  “You never did tell me what you were doing for Ethan.  Some sort of con job, right?”  He meant it as a joke, expecting Jeremy to laugh.  
  
“Oh,” Jeremy said offhandedly, glancing over Simon’s shoulder out the dark tinted window.  “Of course.  The Stock Exchange.”  
  
Simon’s jaw dropped.  He wouldn’t.  He  _couldn’t_.  Oh Jesus.  
  
“I’m  _teasing_ , Simon,” Jeremy said with a smile and a light tap of a fingertip to the end of Simon’s nose.  “You really do need to trust me.”  
  
“I  _do_  –” Simon protested, rubbing his nose.  “ _Mostly_ , anyway, just sometimes it’s hard to tell when you’re joking.”  
  
 “Truly, there’s nothing to worry about, Simon.  He’s establishing a scholarship program for the Engineering Technology program at the City University of New York.  Nothing illegal or unscrupulous whatsoever.”  
  
Simon’s heard was still racing.  “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me for a minute there.  I thought maybe I was going to have to kill you, or maybe just pretend a sudden onset of early Alzheimer’s.  And  _technology_?  I mean, I can kind of understand that, after all the James Bond stuff you guys came up with – Christ, either one of you could fucking  _teach_ technology at any school in the country – but you seriously want to give the good guys an edge like that?”  
  
“Oh no, I’m entirely serious.  It’s a bit of a convoluted story that I admit I didn’t completely follow, but a New York associate of Ethan’s called in an old favor; he made a contribution to one of Ethan’s pet projects, and this is merely bit of tit for tat, I suppose, giving the underprivileged youth of America opportunity or some such altruistic rot.”  Jeremy shrugged.  
  
The big car engine rumbled quietly, blowing a faint breeze of warm air into the back seat.  Outside, the PA system droned on, announcing flight arrivals and boarding calls.  Simon pulled at his sleeve to check the time and immediately slapped his forehead.  “Shit, I left my watch at the hotel.  What time do you have?”  
  
“More than you, regrettably,” Jeremy said, the suggestion of a smile returning to his face, and tugged up his sleeve to check his watch.  “It’s almost one.”  
  
Simon slapped a fist into the palm of his hand.  Fatigue made him angrier with himself than he should have been.  “God _damn_  it.  I’ll have to pick one up on the way home tonight, which heads the list of top three things I don’t want to fucking deal with until I get some sleep.”  
  
“Oh no, you just go straight home and get some rest.”  Jeremy fiddled at his wrist for a second, then removed his own chunky black chronograph watch and pressed it into Simon’s hand.  “Here, take it.  You can’t very well go to work tomorrow without one.”  
  
Simon stared at the watch.  Even though it wasn’t all shiny white gold, it still looked expensive like whoa, with all sorts of buttons and dials and timers.  “Hell no,” he balked, trying to push it back into Jeremy’s hand.  “Won’t you need it?”  
  
A low rumble of laughter from Jeremy provided the answer.  
  
“Christ, did I really just say that?  Criminology 101 Fail – the part about not aiding and abetting a known criminal in the commission of a crime.”  
  
“I’d prefer to call it simply accepting a favor from a –  _friend_.”  A slight hesitation in the word, and Jeremy’s fingers closed around Simon’s wrist, his thumb stroking whisper-light over the pulse.  
  
The skin tingled under Jeremy’s touch, making Simon swallow hard.  His wrists were really sensitive, and Jeremy knew it.  Simon made one last token protest, but that slow, sensual glide over the delicate bones of his wrist was starting to muddle his thoughts.  “What if I break it?”  
  
“Then I’ll have to extract repayment from your flesh.”  Jeremy chuckled, deftly shifting his grip and fastening the band around Simon’s wrist.  The casing was warm against Simon’s skin, still radiating Jeremy’s body heat.  “It’s fine, Simon, really.  Just be thankful I wasn’t wearing the new one, because I wouldn’t be quite so willing to give that one up.  Where did you leave yours?  I’ll look when I get back and bring it to you next time.”  
  
 _Next time._  Yeah, that sounded good, on a lot of levels.  “On the bureau beside the bed, I think.  I forgot to put it on after my shower.”  He examined the watch a little more closely.  “This thing isn’t going to, uh, explode or shoot some of that knockout gas if I press the wrong button, right?”  
  
“Unfortunately not,” Jeremy said, smiling.  “The specs for that model are still on the table.  This is the plain, ordinary, telling-time version.”  
  
“Damn, I was sort of hoping I’d be able to gas Honda, just to enjoy the experience.”  
  
“Oh, well in  _that_  case, there is a tiny lever right under the mode button – “  
  
“Aw man, don’t tease me like that!  That would be  _awesome_.”  
  
Jeremy’s smile broadened at the memory.  “Yes, it was rather entertaining.  He made quite an interesting sound when he hit the ground.  I don’t suppose he’s ever forgiven me for that?”  
  
“Not a fucking chance, he lives for the day he’ll be able to kick your ass and get away with it.”  
  
“I’m sure he could beat me bloody, but he’d have to get his hands on me first.”  
  
“And since he’s kinda big and slow, I think you’re safe for now,” Simon agreed, changing the subject as casually as he could manage.  “So, for the sake of conversation and stalling a little longer, what part of the globe should I be paying attention to in the next couple weeks, on the off chance a stray Interpol arrest report finds its way across my desk?”  
  
The phrase  _plausible deniability_  once again echoed in his mind, but as always, he ignored it.  If Archer got busted, even Simon’s own management would never believe he had no knowledge aforethought, anyway, so he might as well know which part of the world he should be keeping an eye on.  
  
Utterly unconcerned, Jeremy ran a hand through his hair.  “I’ll head back to England first, of course, and then I would emphatically  _not_  say that I understand Brasilia is a very nice city this time of year.  That’s in – ”  
  
“ – Brazil, yes, I know.  I’m American, not  _stupid,_ Archer.  Jesus, why couldn’t we have gone there instead?”  
  
“Hmm, let me think.  Perhaps because you would have been a prick about waiting in a hotel room while I broke roughly a half dozen laws?”  
  
Simon resisted the urge to slap the smug right off Jeremy’s face.  “Oh yeah, there is that.  Christ.   _Brazil_ , land of suntans and bikini waxes.”  Simon pulled at his hair.  “Just, seriously, Jeremy.   _Be careful._  I don’t have enough vacation time in the bank for monthly visitation to the federal prison or whatever the fuck they have down there.”  
  
There it was again, reaching out to slap Simon upside the head.  The irrefutable point and single major point of contention between them:  Jeremy was a  _felon_ , and Simon was the  _law_.  
  
Jeremy’s smile didn’t falter.  “I’ll exercise the utmost caution, as always.”  
  
“Yeah, I know, but how much longer can you  _do_  this?  Your luck isn’t going to hold forever, and someday - ”  He trailed off and scratched distractedly at his unshaven chin.  He’d been too tired to bother shaving, and after only twelve hours, his beard had taken on a bit of a caveman look.  Jeremy hadn’t shaved, either, but his day-old scruff was barely noticeable.  It just wasn’t fair.  
  
“It’s who I am, Simon,” Jeremy said as patiently as always, his face going unusually solemn.  “My luck will hold, or it won’t.  It’s as simple as that.  I expect you of all people would understand that sentiment.”  
  
“Yeah, I know, I know.” Simon muttered, dropping his face to one hand and rubbing at his eyes.  Exhaustion had made them dry and gritty.  “I just – I just really, really fucking hate it.”  
  
As Simon expected, Jeremy made no reply.  What could he say, really?  They had been down this road dozens of times before.  Simon could either accept Jeremy as he was, or leave.  
  
Long ago, in the precarious final days of the Farraday investigation after Simon had come clean about the cover-up and Jeremy’s part in the shooting, and Simon was scheming to get his job back, Upstairs had asked him if Jeremy was “worth all that trouble.”  At the time, Simon had admitted with utter candor that he didn’t know.  Since then, Simon had done plenty of navel-gazing over that question and could finally admit, unequivocally, that yeah, Jeremy had been worth the trouble.  That knowledge didn’t even make Simon cringe too much anymore.  
  
He lifted his head and scrubbed one hand through his hair.  “Okay, anyway, I’m over it.  Never mind.”  
  
One corner of Jeremy’s mouth turned up, lightening the mood a fraction, and that was a small relief.  
  
“This is me, never minding.  And  _you_ , overgrown hairy brute,” Jeremy reached out and poked lightly Simon in the chest, “Kevlar might protect that big strong body, but I have reservations that even your thick skull won’t stop a well placed bullet.”  His hand relaxed and came to rest on Simon’s chest over his heart, hot as a brand, and he echoed Simon’s own words back to him.  “Please be careful, Simon.”  
  
That one fear was something Simon never spoke about but wrestled with before every single operation.  Somehow he managed a smile and made a halfhearted attempt at a joke.  “Yeah, Mom, I’ll wear my vest, and I’ll put on clean underwear too.  And hey, I think I’m offended.  I’m not  _that_  hairy.”  
  
“Whatever you say, Simon,” Jeremy said agreeably with a flash of a grin, then his expression sobered.  “Just see that you are.  Careful, that is.”  
  
Jeremy rose from his seat almost to his knees and leaned in toward Simon, cupping Simon’s chin in his hand and pressing their lips together fiercely, almost possessively.  
  
Simon’s hands fluttered for a moment, then landed on Jeremy’s shoulders and held on.  When the kiss ended, dwindling away to nothing, he rested his forehead against Jeremy’s, his eyes closed.  They remained that way for a while, listening to each other breathing.  
  
Jeremy finally, reluctantly, pulled away.  “Your flight,” he said quietly.  
  
“Don’t want to miss that, I guess.”  Glancing at his – Jeremy’s – watch, he drew a sharp breath between his teeth.  “Shit, I gotta go.  Like, right this minute.”  
  
Jeremy nodded.  “I’ll ring you in a few days, once I’m on my way home again.”  
  
“Yeah, ‘kay.”  Simon darted in to steal one more quick kiss, then stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him, and got his duffel from the chauffeur.  He took a few long steps toward the terminal, then stopped and looked back over his shoulder, holding one hand up in a little wave.  The windows of the vehicle were highly tinted, realistically too dark to see through into the interior, but Simon was almost certain he saw the pale flash of Jeremy’s hand rising in farewell.  
  
Turning away, Simon jogged through the automatic door toward his departure gate, back toward the other, equally important, part of his life.  
  
 _The End._  
  
$ $ $ $ $  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the soundtrack for the Club scene, for those of you who like to know the music-y stuff. J The rest of the story was written in silence, or as near to it as one can get in this household. I can’t write and listen TO music; it distracts me. I listen to the music, THEN write.
> 
> Days Go By - Dirty Vegas  
> Lift Me Up - Moby  
> Du What U Du – Yoshimoto  
> Hide and Seek (Tiesto Remix) – Imogen Heap  
> Like a Rocket – Capital A  
> Indra – Thievery Corporation  
> South Side – Moby  
> Far Beyond – ATB  
> Tonight (Above and Beyond Remix) – Dirty Vegas  
> Sandstorm – Darude


End file.
